's robe,
exactly like the costume of the convent, led the way, and Montriveau
came immediately behind him. The clock struck three just as the two men
reached the dormitory cells. They soon saw the position. Everything was
perfectly quiet. With the help of a dark lantern they read the names
luckily written on every door, together with the picture of a saint or
saints and the mystical words which every nun takes as a kind of
motto for the beginning of her new life and the revelation of her
last thought. Montriveau reached Sister Theresa's door and read the
inscription, _Sub invocatione sanctae matris Theresae_, and her motto,
_Adoremus in aeternum_. Suddenly his companion laid a hand on his
shoulder. A bright light was streaming through the chinks of the door.
M. de Ronquerolles came up at that moment.

"All the nuns are in the church," he said; "they are beginning the
Office for the Dead."

"I will stay here," said Montriveau. "Go back into the parlour, and shut
the door at the end of the passage."

He threw open the door and rushed in, preceded by his disguised
companion, who let down the veil over his face.

There before them lay the dead Duchess; her plank bed had been laid on
the floor of the outer room of her cell, between two lighted candles.
Neither Montriveau nor de Marsay spoke a word or uttered a cry; but they
looked into each other's faces. The General's dumb gesture tried to say,
"Let us carry her away!"

"Quickly" shouted Ronquerolles, "the procession of nuns is leaving the
church. You will be caught!"

With magical swiftness of movement, prompted by an intense desire, the
dead woman was carried into the convent parlour, passed through the
window, and lowered from the walls before the Abbess, followed by the
nuns, returned to take up Sister Theresa's body. The sister left in
charge had imprudently left her post; there were secrets that she longed
to know; and so busy was she ransacking the inner room, that she heard
nothing, and was horrified when she came back to find that the body was
gone. Before the women, in their blank amazement, could think of making
a search, the Duchess had been lowered by a cord to the foot of the
crags, and Montriveau's companions had destroyed all traces of their
work. By nine o'clock that morning there was not a sign to show that
either staircase or wire-cables had ever existed, and Sister Theresa's
body had been taken on board. The brig came into the port to ship her
cr