indow which
overlooked the moat; and in answer to the marquise's questions he
informed her that he had been disturbed by sounds of movements and
upon entering the chamber he had discovered mademoiselle making these
preparations for departure.

Valerie, locked in the inner chamber, refused to come forth as the
Marquise bade her, but her voice reassured Madame de Condillac of her
presence, and so, since her attempt had failed, madame was content to
let her be.

"The little fool," she said, peering down from the window into the
night; "she would have been killed for certain. Her rope of sheets does
not reach more than a third of the way down. She would have had over
thirty feet to fall, and if that had not been enough to finish her, she
would of a certainty have, been drowned in the moat."

She signified her satisfaction with the faithful "Battista's" vigilance
by a present of some gold pieces in the morning, and since the height of
the window and the moat beneath it did not appear sufficient obstacles
to mademoiselle's attempts at effecting her escape, the Dowager had the
window nailed down. Thus, only by breaking it could egress be obtained,
and the breaking of it could not be effected without such a noise as
must arouse "Battista."

Under Garnache's instructions the comedy was carried a little further.
Mademoiselle affected for her gaoler a most unconquerable aversion, and
this she took pains to proclaim.

One morning, three days after her attempted escape, she was taking the
air in the garden of Condillac, "Battista," ever watchful, a few paces
behind her, when suddenly she was joined by Marius--a splendid, graceful
figure in a riding-suit of brown velvet and biscuit-coloured hose, his
points tipped with gold, his long boots of the finest marroquin leather,
his liver-coloured hound at his heels. It was the last day of October,
but the weather, from cold and wet that it had been for the past
fortnight, had taken on a sudden improvement. The sun shone, the air
was still and warm, and but for the strewn leaves and the faint smell
of decay with which the breath of autumn is ever laden, one might have
fancied it a day of early spring.

It was not Valerie's wont to pause when Marius approached. Since she
might not prevent him from walking where he listed, she had long since
abandoned the futility of bidding him begone when he came near her. But,
at least, she had never stopped in her walk, never altered its pace; she