in was the woman closely
cloaked and hooded. Madame de Pavannes cast on her a single doubtful
glance, and then to my astonishment threw herself into her arms,
mingling her sobs with little joyous cries of "Oh, Diane! oh, Diane!"

"My poor little one!" the newcomer exclaimed, soothing her with tender
touches on hair and shoulder. "You are safe now. Quite safe!"

"You have come to take me away?"

"Of course we have!" Diane answered cheerfully, still caressing her.
"We have come to take you to your husband. He has been searching for
you everywhere. He is distracted with grief, little one."

"Poor Louis!" ejaculated the wife.

"Poor Louis, indeed!" the rescuer answered. "But you will see him
soon. We only learned at midnight where you were. You have to thank
M. le Coadjuteur here for that. He brought me the news, and at once
escorted me here to fetch you."

"And to restore one sister to another," said the priest silkily, as he
advanced a step. He was the very same priest whom I had seen two hours
before with Bezers, and had so greatly disliked! I hated his pale face
as much now as I had then. Even the errand of good on which he had
come could not blind me to his thin-lipped mouth, to his mock humility
and crafty eyes. "I have had no task so pleasant for many days," added
he, with every appearance of a desire to propitiate.

But, seemingly, Madame de Pavannes had something of the same feeling
towards him which I had myself; for she started at the sound of his
voice, and disengaging herself from her sister's arms--it seemed it was
her sister--shrank back from the pair. She bowed indeed in
acknowledgment of his words. But there was little gratitude in the
movement, and less warmth. I saw the sister's face--a brilliantly
beautiful face it was--brighter eyes and lips and more lovely auburn
hair I have never seen--even Kit would have been plain and dowdy beside
her--I saw it harden strangely. A moment before, the two had been in
one another's arms. Now they stood apart, somehow chilled and
disillusionised. The shadow of the priest had fallen upon them--had
come between them.

At this crisis the fourth person present asserted himself. Hitherto he
had stood silent just within the door: a plain man, plainly dressed,
somewhat over sixty and grey-haired. He looked disconcerted and
embarrassed, and I took him for Mirepoix--rightly as it turned out.

"I am sure," he now exclaimed, his voice trembling wit