her?"

"Then, Bathilde, you prayed for me?"

"All night," replied the young girl blushing.

"And I thanked chance for having saved me, when I owed all to an angel's
prayers!"

"The danger is then past?" cried Bathilde.

"The night was dark and gloomy," replied D'Harmental. "This morning,
however, I was awakened by a ray of sunshine which a cloud may again
conceal: so it is with the danger I have run; it has passed to give
place to a great happiness--that of knowing you have thought of me, yet
it may return. But stay," continued he, hearing steps on the staircase,
"there it is, perhaps, approaching my door."

As he spoke, some one knocked three times at the chevalier's door.

"Who is there?" asked D'Harmental from the window, in a voice which, in
spite of all his firmness, betrayed some emotion.

"A friend," answered a voice.

"Well?" asked Bathilde, with anxiety.

"Thanks to you, God still continues to protect me: it is a friend who
knocks. Once again, thanks, Bathilde." And the chevalier closed his
window, sending the young girl a last salute which was very like a kiss;
then he opened to the Abbe Brigaud, who, beginning to be impatient, had
knocked a second time.

"Well," said the abbe, on whose face it was impossible to see the
smallest change, "what has happened, then, my dear pupil, that you are
shut in thus by bolts and bars? Is it as a foretaste of the Bastille?"

"Holla! abbe," said D'Harmental, in a cheerful voice, "no such jokes, I
beg; they might bring misfortune."

"But look! look!" said Brigaud, throwing his eyes round him, "would not
any one suppose they were visiting a conspirator? Pistols on the table,
a sword on the pillow, and a hat and cloak on the chair. Ah! my dear
pupil, you are discomposed, it appears to me! Come, put all this in
order, that I may not be able to perceive, when I pay my paternal visit,
what passes during my absence."

D'Harmental obeyed, admiring, in this man of the Church, the sang-froid
which he himself found it difficult to attain.

"Very good," said Brigaud, watching him, "and this shoulder-knot which
you have forgotten, and which was never made for you (for it dates from
the time when you were in jackets), put it away too; who knows?--you may
want it."

"And what for, abbe?" asked D'Harmental, laughing; "to attend the
regent's levee in?"

"Oh, no, but for a signal to some good fellow who is passing; come, put
it away."

"My dear abbe," said D'Harmental,