hat it was to distrust
and dread. This, indeed, was the first trial of her life, and it was I,
brute that I was, who made her undergo it. I took her for a gipsy, and
she was an angel of purity.

She was my young cousin (or aunt, after the Breton fashion), Edmee de
Mauprat, the daughter of M. Hubert, my great-uncle (again in the Breton
fashion), known as the Chevalier--he who had sought release from the
Order of Malta that he might marry, though already somewhat advanced
in years. My cousin was the same age as myself; at least, there was
a difference of only a few months between us. Both of us were now
seventeen, and this was our first interview. She whom I ought to have
protected at the peril of my life against the world was now standing
before me trembling and terror-stricken, like a victim before the
executioner.

She made a great effort, and approaching me as I walked about the hall
deep in thought, she explained who she was, adding:

"It is impossible that you can be an infamous creature like all these
brigands whom I have just seen, and of whose hideous life I have often
heard. You are young; your mother was good and wise. My father wanted to
adopt you and bring you up as his son. Even to-day he is still full of
grief at not being able to draw you out of the abyss in which you lie.
Have you not often received messages from him? Bernard, you and I are of
the same family; think of the ties of blood; why would you insult me? Do
they intend to assassinate me here or torture me? Why did they deceive
me by saying that I was at Rochemaure? Why did they withdraw in this
mysterious way? What are they preparing? What is going to happen?"

Her words were cut short by the report of a gun outside. A shot from the
culverin replied to it, and the alarm trumpet shook the gloomy walls of
the keep with its dismal note. Mademoiselle de Mauprat fell back into
her chair. I remained where I was, wondering whether this was some
new scene in the comedy they were enjoying at my expense. However,
I resolved not to let the alarm cause me any uneasiness until I had
certain proof that it was not a trick.

"Come, now," I said, going up to her again, "own that all this is a
joke. You are not Mademoiselle de Mauprat at all; and you merely want to
discover if I am an apprentice capable of making love."

"I swear by Christ," she answered, taking my hands in her own, which
were cold as death, "that I am Edmee, your cousin, your prisoner--yes,