chevalier, scion of one of the proudest
families of France and an Abbess, a woman of gentle birth, both of whom
had been denounced to the Revolutionary tribunal. They had known and
loved each other as children, and they met in prison for the first time
since the Abbess had taken her vows. Closely associated within the
dungeon's grim walls they soon discovered that time had not killed
their youthful infatuation. In the shadow of death the Abbess was
willing to admit that she had loved the chevalier all these years, that
she had prayed for him and carried his image in her heart. He clasped
her in his arms and, pleading his unconquerable passion, he urged her to
forget her vows and give herself to him. Kindly, but firmly, she
withdrew from his embrace and gravely recalled him to a sense of duty.
She declared that being now the affianced bride of Heaven, it was
forbidden for her to even think of earthly ties or joys. But the
chevalier refused to listen to reason or to calm his ardor. He insisted
that such love as theirs was sacred, and that her vows to the Church did
not bind her, now that she was about to die. In another few hours they
would both be dead. Her duty, during the short time she had yet to live,
was to yield to the promptings of her heart rather than to heed the
dictates of her conscience. Their union, he said, would be a marriage
before God, and after their earthly death they would be united forever
in Heaven. The Abbess listened. Her great love gradually gained the
mastery over her moral scruples. Her opposition weakened. The chevalier
took her again in his arms."

Grace ceased speaking. Armitage, his face betraying more and more
interest, waited for her to continue.

"That is not all," he said interrogatively.

Grace shook her head.

"No, now comes the tragedy of it." Continuing, she went on: "The next
day the prison doors were thrown open, and brutal jailers read out the
lists of names of those prisoners who that morning must ride in the
fatal death-cart. Among the first summoned was the chevalier. Tenderly
he bade the Abbess farewell. Death he hailed with joy, for it marked the
beginning of their coming felicity in another and better world. He
disappeared, and the Abbess awaited her turn. Other names were called,
but hers was not among them. The jailer stopped reading and turned to
depart. The Abbess tremulously asked when her hour, too, would come. The
jailer answered: 'You go free--by order of the Tr