lf by thinking of something else. Jacques said that Monsieur
and Mademoiselle were for ever talking together of the past days,--it was
'Do you remember this?' or, 'Do you remember that?' perpetually. He
sometimes thought they forgot where they were, and what was before them.
But Jacques did not, and every day he trembled more and more as the list
was called over.

"The third morning of their incarceration, the gaoler brought in a man
whom Jacques did not recognize, and therefore did not at once observe;
for he was waiting, as in duty bound, upon his master and his sweet young
lady (as he always called her in repeating the story). He thought that
the new introduction was some friend of the gaoler, as the two seemed
well acquainted, and the latter stayed a few minutes talking with his
visitor before leaving him in prison. So Jacques was surprised when,
after a short time had elapsed, he looked round, and saw the fierce stare
with which the stranger was regarding Monsieur and Mademoiselle de
Crequy, as the pair sat at breakfast,--the said breakfast being laid as
well as Jacques knew how, on a bench fastened into the prison
wall,--Virginie sitting on her low stool, and Clement half lying on the
ground by her side, and submitting gladly to be fed by her pretty white
fingers; for it was one of her fancies, Jacques said, to do all she could
for him, in consideration of his broken arm. And, indeed, Clement was
wasting away daily; for he had received other injuries, internal and more
serious than that to his arm, during the melee which had ended in his
capture. The stranger made Jacques conscious of his presence by a sigh,
which was almost a groan. All three prisoners looked round at the sound.
Clement's face expressed little but scornful indifference; but Virginie's
face froze into stony hate. Jacques said he never saw such a look, and
hoped that he never should again. Yet after that first revelation of
feeling, her look was steady and fixed in another direction to that in
which the stranger stood,--still motionless--still watching. He came a
step nearer at last.

"'Mademoiselle,' he said. Not the quivering of an eyelash showed that
she heard him. 'Mademoiselle!' he said again, with an intensity of
beseeching that made Jacques--not knowing who he was--almost pity him,
when he saw his young lady's obdurate face.

"There was perfect silence for a space of time which Jacques could not
measure. Then again the voice,