ot let her move, but took her damp
languid hand, and detailed her uncle's proposal. It was plain that it
was not utterly distasteful. 'Soeur Monique,' she said, 'Soeur Monique
would sing hymns to me, and then I should not see the imps at night.'

'Poor child! And you would like to go? You could bear the journey?'

'It would be in the air! And then I should not smell blood--blood!' And
her cheeks became whiter again, if possible.

'Then you would not rather be at the Carmelites, or Maubuisson, near
me?'

'Ah! Madame, there would not be Soeur Monique. If the journey would only
make me die, as soon as I came, with Soeur Monique to hush me, and keep
off dreadful images!'

'Dear child, you should put away the thought of dying. Maybe you are to
live, that your prayers may win salvation for the soul of him you love.'

'Oh, then! I should like to go into a convent so strict--so strict,
cried Eustacie, with renewed vigour. 'Bellaise is nothing like strict
enough. Does your Majesty indeed think that my prayers will aid him?'

'Alas! what hope could we have but in praying?' said Elisabeth, with
tears in her eyes. 'Little one, we will be joined at least in our
prayers and intercessions: thou wilt not forget in thine one who yet
lives, unhappier than all!'

'And, oh, my good, my holy Queen, will you indeed pray for him--my
husband? He was so good, his faith can surely not long be reckoned
against him. He did not believe in Purgatory! Perhaps----' Then frowning
with a difficulty far beyond a fever-clouded brain, she concluded--'At
least, orisons may aid him! It is doing something for him! Oh, where are
my beads?--I can begin at once.'

The Queen put her arm round her, and together they said the _De
profundis_,--the Queen understood every word far more for the living
than the dead. Again Elisabeth had given new life to Eustacie. The
intercession for her husband was something to live for, and the severest
convent was coveted, until she was assured that she would not be allowed
to enter on any rule till she had time to recover her health, and show
the constancy of her purpose by a residence at Bellaise.

Ere parting, however, the Queen bent over her, and colouring, as if much
ashamed of what she said, whispered--'Child, not a word of the ceremony
at Montpipeau!--you understand? The King was always averse; it would
bring him and me into dreadful trouble with THOSE OTHERS, and alas! It
makes no difference now. You will be silen