ing him a look that was full of delightful hopes.

"Monseigneur comes!" cried the page, rushing in.

Instantly the young nobleman, surprised at the short time he had gained
with his mistress and wondering at the celerity of the count, snatched a
kiss, which was not refused.

"To-night!" he said, slipping hastily from the chapel.

Thanks to the darkness, he reached the great portal safely, gliding from
column to column in the long shadows which they cast athwart the nave.
An old canon suddenly issued from the confessional, came to the side
of the countess and closed the iron railing before which the page was
marching gravely up and down with the air of a watchman.

A strong light now announced the coming of the count. Accompanied by
several friends and by servants bearing torches, he hurried forward, a
naked sword in hand. His gloomy eyes seemed to pierce the shadows and to
rake even the darkest corners of the cathedral.

"Monseigneur, madame is there," said the page, going forward to meet
him.

The Comte de Saint-Vallier found his wife kneeling on the steps of the
alter, the old priest standing beside her and reading his breviary. At
that sight the count shook the iron railing violently as if to give vent
to his rage.

"What do you want here, with a drawn sword in a church?" asked the
priest.

"Father, that is my husband," said the countess.

The priest took a key from his sleeve, and unlocked the railed door of
the chapel. The count, almost in spite of himself, cast a look into the
confessional, then he entered the chapel, and seemed to be listening
attentively to the sounds in the cathedral.

"Monsieur," said his wife, "you owe many thanks to this venerable canon,
who gave me a refuge here."

The count turned pale with anger; he dared not look at his friends, who
had come there more to laugh at him than to help him. Then he answered
curtly:

"Thank God, father, I shall find some way to repay you."

He took his wife by the arm and, without allowing her to finish her
curtsey to the canon, he signed to his servants and left the church
without a word to the others who had accompanied him. His silence had
something savage and sullen about it. Impatient to reach his home and
preoccupied in searching for means to discover the truth, he took
his way through the tortuous streets which at that time separated the
cathedral from the Chancellerie, a fine building recently erected by the
Chancellor Juvenal des Urs