I don't know what spirit of incaution or forgetfulness urged me to say:

"We have no provisions against any premeditated crime, and although none may dare limit the mercy of the Most High, still I should have. little hope of pardon for one who, instead of seeking grace to be kept from sin, recklessly committed it, with the intention of asking forgiveness when it was done."

The Comtesse had flushed deeply when I first began speaking, but before I had finished she was whiter than the muslin dress she wore, and though her fingers were busy in dissecting some roses she had taken from her girdle, I could see that they were trembling violently.

"Let us walk, mademoiselle," she said in a dry, husky tone, "and perhaps the fresh air from the river may inspire us with a more cheerful subject of conversation."

CHAPTER XXIII.

MONSIEUR'S JOURNEY.

I remarked at this time that the Father Confessor of Madame began to come less regularly to the chateau, and one day I asked her why it

was.

"Oh," she replied with affected indifference, "he has not been invited, that's all. Monsieur

having a confessor of his own, only has Pere

Hyppolite here when I want him, and lately the

good man has wearied me. Besides," and she laughed that bitter laugh which I so much disliked, "what can I possibly have to confess, shut up in this old dungeon?"

"You know," I said, "that in my religion we protest against confession to a priest at all, but as far as sin is concerned, I believe both you and myself are quite as capable of committing it here as in the midst of the gay and busy world."

"Ah, Mademoiselle, you have I see peculiar notions about many things. I think, however, with you, that it is the height of absurdity to tell all our thoughts and feelings to a man who only differs from other men because he shaves the top of his head, and wears a black gown."

"If you said as much to Monsieur le Comte, he would suspect me of having infected

my protestant heresy."

you

with

"No matter if he did, but I am not a protes

ant any the more for seeing some of the absurdities of Catholicism. Your religion is too tame and spiritless to have much attraction for me, but it seems to suit you cold and passionless English."

"All English people, Madame, are not cold and passionless."

"More or less; but I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle, that constant and persevering correspondent of yours, who is neither father nor brother, must have some warmth in him wherewith he is endeavouring to thaw the ice of your nature; otherwise he would have left off writing long ago."

"Why, Madame?"

"Because he would have grown weary of importuning you in vain. I presume it is the gentleman you once told me about, who still hopes to win your reluctant heart and hand."

Oh, no, Madame. My correspondent is the

son and brother of my friends in London, the young man who was engaged to be married to that dear little friend I lost just before coming here."

"Then he has soon consoled himself it seems. And when are you to be married, Mademoiselle?"

66

Oh, Madame, there is no question of anything of the kind. He loved too deeply ever to love again, and only writes to me as a brother, and because my devotion to her whom he had lost has gained me a place in his esteem."

The Comtesse raised her beautiful eyes and looked at me wonderingly for a minute or two.

"How droll and incomprehensible you are, you English," she said at length, with a little supercilious smile. "In our country such things could not be, or if they were, nobody would believe in their assumption of platonism. But pardon me, mademoiselle, if I say that you must learn