howed him such a figure ready
made. He was then asked if this figure did not represent a man. He
replied that it represented a woman. Then, if the object of the charm
was not to cause the death of the man. He replied that the purpose of
the charm was to cause himself to be beloved by the woman.

These questions were put in a hundred different forms, but La Mole
always replied in the same way. The judges looked at one another with a
certain indecision, not knowing what to say or do before such
simplicity, when a note brought to the Attorney-General solved the
difficulty.

"_If the accused denies resort to the torture._

"_C._"

The attorney put the note into his pocket, smiled at La Mole, and
politely dismissed him.

La Mole returned to his cell almost as reassured, if not as joyous, as
Coconnas.

"I think everything is going well," said he.

An hour later he heard footsteps and saw a note slipped under his door,
without seeing the hand that did it. He took it up, thinking that in all
probability it came from the jailer?

Seeing it, a hope almost as acute as a disappointment sprang into his
heart; he hoped it was from Marguerite, from whom he had had no news
since he had been a prisoner.

He took it up with trembling hand, and almost died of joy as he looked
at the handwriting.

"_Courage!_" said the note. "_I am watching over you._"

"Ah! if she is watching," cried La Mole, covering with kisses the paper
which had touched a hand so dear, "if she is watching, I am saved."

In order for La Mole to comprehend the note and rely with Coconnas on
what the Piedmontese called his _invisible bucklers_ it is necessary for
us to conduct the reader to that small house, to that chamber in which
the reminders of so many scenes of intoxicating happiness, so many
half-evaporated perfumes, so many tender recollections, since become
agonizing, were breaking the heart of a woman half reclining on velvet
cushions.

"To be a queen, to be strong, young, rich, beautiful, and suffer what I
suffer!" cried this woman; "oh! it is impossible!"

Then in her agitation she rose, paced up and down, stopped suddenly,
pressed her burning forehead against the ice-cold marble, rose pale, her
face covered with tears, wrung her hands, and crying aloud fell back
again hopeless into a chair.

Suddenly the tapestry which separated the apartment of the Rue Cloche
Percee from that in the Rue Tizon was raised