ess quality of what I left. Well may it be that such are but the
thoughts of a man's dying moments, whispered into his soul by a merciful
God to predispose him for the wrench and agony of his passing.

I had been a half-hour in my cell when the door was opened to admit
Castelroux, whom I had not seen since the night before. He came to
condole with me in my extremity, and yet to bid me not utterly lose
hope.

"It is too late to-day to carry out the sentence," said he, "and as
to-morrow will be Sunday, you will have until the day after. By then
much may betide, monsieur. My agents are everywhere scouring the
province for your servants, and let us pray Heaven that they may succeed
in their search."

"It is a forlorn hope, Monsieur de Castelroux," I sighed, "and I will
pin no faith to it lest I suffer a disappointment that will embitter my
last moments, and perhaps rob me of some of the fortitude I shall have
need of."

He answered me, nevertheless, with words of encouragement. No effort was
being spared, and if Rodenard and my men were still in Languedoc then
was every likelihood that they would be brought to Toulouse in time.
Then he added that that, however, was not the sole object of his visit.
A lady had obtained permission of the Keeper of the Seals to visit me,
and she was waiting to be admitted.

"A lady?" I exclaimed, and the thought of Roxalanne flitted through my
mind. "Mademoiselle de Lavedan?" I inquired.

He nodded. "Yes," said he; then added, "She seems in sore affliction,
monsieur."

I besought him to admit her forthwith, and presently she came.
Castelroux closed the door as he withdrew, and we were left alone
together. As she put aside her cloak, and disclosed to me the pallor of
her face and the disfiguring red about her gentle eyes, telling of
tears and sleeplessness, all my own trouble seemed to vanish in the
contemplation of her affliction.

We stood a moment confronting each other with no word spoken. Then,
dropping her glance, and advancing a step, in a faltering, hesitating
manner "Monsieur, monsieur," she murmured in a suffocating voice.

In a bound I was beside her, and I had gathered her in my arms, her
little brown head against my shoulder.

"Roxalanne!" I whispered as soothingly as I might--"Roxalanne!"

But she struggled to be free of my embrace.

"Let me go, monsieur," she pleaded, a curious shrinking in her very
voice. "Do not touch me, monsieur. You do not know--you do not kno