e and confiding manner.

The Chevalier and his son searched vigorously. On the slightest
suspicion, they came down to the farm, closed up the outlets, threatened
the owners, turned out the house, and the very place they had last
searched would become her quarters on the next night! Messages always
had warned her in time. Intelligence was obtained by Martin, who
contrived to remain a confidential agent, and warnings were dispatched
to her by many a strange messenger--by little children, by old women, or
even by the village innocent.

The most alarming days were those when she was not the avowed object
of the chase, but when the pursuit of game rendered the coverts in the
woods and fields unsafe, and the hounds might lead to her discovery. On
one of these occasions Martin locked her up in the great hayloft of the
convent, where she could actually hear the chants in the chapel, and
distinguish the chatter of the lay-sisters in the yard. Another time, in
conjunction with the sacristan, he bestowed her in the great seigneurial
tribune (or squire's pew) in the village church, a tall carved box,
where she was completely hidden; and the only time when she had failed
to obtain warning beforehand, she stood kneading bread at a tub in
Martin's cottage, while the hunt passed by, and a man-at-arms looked in
and questioned the master on the last traces of the runaway.

It was seldom possible to see Mere Perrine, who was carefully watched,
under the conviction that she must know where her nursling was; but one
evening Veronique ventured up to Martin's farm, trusting to tidings that
the gentlemen had been Eustacie's only secure harbour; and when, in
a bright evening gleam of the setting sun from beneath the clouds,
Veronique came in sight of her Lady, the Queen's favourite, it was to
see her leading by a string a little shaggy cow, with a bell round its
neck, her gray cloak huddled round her, though dank with wet, a long
lock of black hair streaming over her brow, her garments clinging with
damp, her bare ankles scratched with thorns, her heavy SABOTS covered
with mire, her cheeks pale with cold and wet.

The contrast overwhelmed poor Veronique. She dropped on her knees,
sobbing as if her heart would break, and declaring that this was what
the Abbess had feared; her Lady was fast killing herself.

'Hush! Veronique,' said Eustacie; 'that is all folly. I am wet and weary
now, but oh! if you knew how much sweeter to me life is now tha