at the moment that the terrible drama we have described was being enacted at libourne, madame de cambes, seated beside an oaken table, with pompée at her side making a sort of inventory of her worldly goods, was writing to canolles the following letter:—

"still another postponement, my beloved. just as i was about to pronounce your name to madame la princesse, and ask her consent to our union, the news arrived of the capture of vayres, and froze the words upon my lips. but i know how you must suffer, and i am not strong enough to endure your grief and my own at the same time. the successes or reverses of this fatal war may carry us too far, unless we decide to take matters into our own hands. to-morrow, dear, to-morrow evening at seven o'clock, i will be your wife.

"this is the plan which i beg you to adopt; it is of the utmost importance that you conform to it in every respect.

"immediately after dinner you will call upon madame de lalasne who, as well as her sister, since i presented you to them, has conceived the greatest admiration for you. there will be card-playing, and do you play like the others; but make no engagement for supper; and when night comes, send away your friends if any of them happen to be around you. when you are quite alone you will see a messenger come in,—i cannot say who it will be,—who will call you by your name, as if you were wanted for some business or other. whoever the messenger may be, follow him without fear, for he will come from me, and his errand will be to guide you to the place where i await you.

"i should like that place to be the carmelite church, of which i have such pleasant memories; but as yet i dare not hope that it will be the place, unless they will consent to close the doors for us.

"meanwhile do to my letter what you do to my hand when i forget to withdraw it from yours. to-day i say to you, 'until to-morrow;' to-morrow i will say, 'forever!'"

canolles was in one of his fits of misanthropy when he received this letter. during the whole of the preceding day, and all that morning he had not so much as seen madame de cambes, although, in the space of twenty-four hours he had passed before her windows at least ten times. thereupon the customary reaction took place in the heart of the lovelorn youth. he accused the viscountess of coquetry; he doubted her love; he recurred instinctively to his memories of nanon,—of nanon, always kind, devoted, ardent, and glorying in the love of which claire seemed to be ashamed; and he sighed, poor heart, between the satiated passion which would not die and the hungry passion which had nothing to feed upon. the viscountess's epistle turned the scale in her favor.

canolles read it again and again: as claire had foreseen, he kissed it a score of times as he would have kissed her hand. upon reflection, canolles could not conceal from himself that his love for claire was and had been the most serious affair of his life. with other women that sentiment had always assumed a different aspect, and developed in a different direction. canolles had played his part as a squire of dames, had posed as a lady-killer, and had almost arrogated to himself the right to be inconstant. with madame de cambes, on the contrary, he felt that he was himself under the yoke of a superior power, against which he did not even try to struggle, because his present slavery was far sweeter to him than his former dominion. and in those moments of discouragement when he conceived doubts of the reality of claire's affection, in those moments when the sorrowing heart falls back upon itself, and augments its sorrow with bitter thoughts, he confessed to himself, without a blush for a weakness which a year earlier he would have deemed unworthy a great heart, that to lose madame de cambes would be an insupportable calamity.

but to love her, to be beloved by her, to possess her, heart and soul and body; to possess her, without compromising his future independence,—for the viscountess did not even demand that he should sacrifice his opinions to join the faction of madame la princesse, and asked for nothing but his love,—to be in the future the happiest and wealthiest officer in the king's army (for, after all, why should not wealth be considered? wealth does no harm); to remain in his majesty's service if his majesty should fittingly reward his fidelity; to leave it if, in accordance with the custom of kings, he proved to be ungrateful,—was not all this, in very truth, greater good fortune, a more superb destiny, if we may so say, than any to which he had ever dared aspire in his wildest dreams?

but nanon?

ah! nanon, nanon! there was the dull, aching remorse, which lies always hidden in the depths of every noble heart. only in hearts of common clay does the sorrow which they cause fail to find an echo. nanon, poor nanon! what would she do, what would she say, what would become of her, when she should learn the terrible tidings that her lover was the husband of another woman? alas! she would not, revenge herself, although she would certainly have in her hands all the means of doing so, and that was the thought which tortured canolles most of all. oh! if nanon would but try to take vengeance upon him, if she would set about it in any way she might select, the faithless lover might then look upon her as an enemy, and would at least be rid of his remorse.

but nanon had not answered the letter wherein he bade her not to write to him. how did it happen that she had followed his instructions so scrupulously? surely, if she had wished to do so, she would have found a way to send him ten letters; so nanon had not even tried to correspond with him. ah! what if nanon no longer loved him! and canolles' brow grew dark at the thought that that was possible. it is a pitiful thing, thus to encounter selfish pride even in the noblest hearts.

luckily canolles had one sure way of forgetting everything else, and that was to read and reread madame de cambes' letter; he read it and reread it, and the remedy was effectual. our lover thus succeeded in making himself oblivious to everything except his own happiness. and to follow out his mistress's instructions from the beginning, he made himself beautiful, which was a matter of no great difficulty for a youth with his personal advantages and good taste, and set out for madame de lalasne's as the clock was striking two.

he was so engrossed in his own happiness that as he passed along the quay he did not see his friend ravailly, who made sign after sign to him from a boat which was coming down stream as fast as oars could drive it through the water. lovers, in their happy moments, step so lightly that they seem hardly to touch the ground, and canolles was already far away when ravailly stepped ashore.

the latter spoke a few words in a sharp tone to the boatman, and hurried away toward madame de condé's abode.

the princess was at table when she heard a commotion in the antechamber; she inquired as to its cause, and was told that baron de ravailly, her messenger to monsieur de la meilleraie, had that moment arrived.

"madame," said lenet, "i think it would be well for your highness to receive him without delay; whatever the tidings he brings, they are important."

the princess made a sign, and ravailly entered the room, but his face was so pale and grief-stricken that a glance was enough to convince madame de condé that she had before her eyes a messenger of evil.

"what is it, captain?" said she: "what news have you?"

"pardon me, madame, for appearing before your highness in this plight, but i thought that the tidings i bring should not be delayed."

"speak: did you see the marshal?"

"the marshal refused to receive me, madame."

"the marshal refused to receive my envoy?" cried the princess.

"ah! madame, that is not all."

"what else is there? speak! speak! i am waiting."

"poor richon—"

"yes, i know; he is a prisoner—did i not send you to negotiate his ransom!"

"although i made all possible speed, i arrived too late."

"what! too late?" cried lenet; "can any harm have come to him?"

"he is dead."

"dead!" echoed the princess.

"he was tried for high treason, and was condemned and executed."

"condemned! executed! ah! you hear, madame," said the horror-stricken lenet, "i told you how it would he!"

"who condemned him? who was so bold?

"a court-martial presided over by the duc d'épernon, or rather by the queen herself; indeed, they were not content with his death, but decided that it should be infamous."

"what! richon—"

"hanged, madame! hanged like a common malefactor, like a thief or an assassin! i saw his body in the market-place at libourne."

the princess jumped to her feet, as if acted upon by an invisible spring. lenet uttered an exclamation of grief. madame de cambes, who had risen, fell back upon her chair, putting her hand to her heart, as one does when one receives a grievous wound; she had fainted.

"take the viscountess away," said the duc de la rochefoucauld; "we have no leisure now to attend to swooning women."

two women bore the viscountess from the room.

"this is a brutally frank declaration of war," said the impassive duke.

"it is infamous!" said the princess.

"it is sheer savagery!" said lenet.

"it is impolitic!" said the duke.

"oh! but i trust that we shall find a way to be revenged!" cried the princess, "and that right cruelly!"

"i have my plan!" cried madame de tourville, who had said nothing thus far,—"reprisals, your highness, reprisals!"

"one moment, madame," said lenet; "deuce take me! how fast you go! the affair is of sufficient importance to require reflection."

"no, monsieur, not at all," retorted madame de tourville; "as the king has acted quickly, it is of the utmost importance that we retaliate promptly with the same stroke."

"why, madame," cried lenet, "you talk of shedding blood as if you were queen of france, upon my word. withhold your opinion at least until her highness requests you to give it."

"madame is right," said the captain of the guards; "reprisals are in accordance with the laws of war."

"come," said the duc de la rochefoucauld, calm and unmoved as always, "let us not waste time in idle words as we are doing. the news will soon spread through the city, and an hour hence we shall have lost control of events and passions and men. your highness's first care should be to adopt an attitude so firm that it will be deemed to be unchangeable."

"very well," said the princess, "i place the matter in your hands, monsieur le duc, and rely entirely upon you to avenge my honor and your own affection; for richon was in your own service before entering mine; he came to me from you, and you gave him to me rather as one of your friends than as one of your retainers."

"never fear, madame," said the duke, bowing; "i shall remember what i owe to you, to myself, and to poor dead richon."

he led the captain of the guards aside, and talked with him a long while in a low tone, while the princess left the room with madame de tourville, followed by lenet beating his breast in his grief.

the viscountess was at the door. on recovering consciousness her first impulse was to return to madame de condé; she met her on the way, but with a face so stern that she dared not question her personally.

"mon dieu! mon dieu! what is to be done?" she cried timidly, clasping her hands imploringly.

"we are to have our revenge!" replied madame de tourville, with a majestic air.

"revenge? and how?"

"madame," interposed lenet, "if you possess any influence over the princess, use it, i pray you, to prevent the commission of some horrible murder under the name of reprisals."

with that he passed on, leaving claire in deadly terror. for, by one of those strange intuitions which make one believe in presentiments, the thought of canolles suddenly passed through her mind. she heard a sad voice in her heart speaking of her absent lover, and rushing feverishly upstairs to her room, she began to dress to go to meet him, when she perceived that the appointed time was still three or four hours distant.

meanwhile canolles made his appearance at madame de lalasne's in accordance with the instructions contained in the viscountess's letter. it was the president's birthday, and a birthday party was in progress. as it was the pleasantest season of the year, all the guests were in the garden, where a game of tennis was in progress upon a vast lawn. canolles, whose dexterity was remarkable, was the recipient of several challenges as soon as he appeared, and his skill at the game brought success to his side again and again.

the ladies laughed at the awkwardness of canolles' rivals and his own address; prolonged bravoes followed every new stroke that he made; handkerchiefs waved in the air, and but little more enthusiasm was needed to cause bouquets to rain down at his feet from the loveliest of hands.

his triumph did not avail to banish from his mind the one great thought that filled it, but it helped him to be patient. however great one's haste to reach a goal, one endures delays more patiently when each delay is an ovation.

however, as the appointed hour drew near, the young man's eyes were turned more frequently toward the door through which the guests came and went, and through which the promised messenger would naturally make his appearance.

suddenly, as canolles was congratulating himself upon having, in all probability, but a short time to wait, a strange rumor began to circulate through the joyous assemblage. canolles noticed that groups formed here and there, talking in undertones, and gazing at him with extraordinary interest, in which there seemed to be an admixture of compassion; at first he attributed this interest to his personal appearance and his dexterity, being very, very far from suspecting its true cause.

he began at last to notice that there was, as we have said, an admixture of something like pity in the earnest looks that were bent upon him. he approached one of the groups, with smiling face; the persons who composed the group tried to smile back at him, but were visibly embarrassed, and they to whom he did not directly address himself moved away.

canolles turned in one direction after another and saw that every one avoided his glance and slunk away. it was as if some fatal tidings had suddenly swept over the assemblage, and struck every one dumb with terror. behind him président de lalasne was pacing gloomily back and forth with one hand under his chin and the other in his breast. his wife, with her sister on her arm, took advantage of a moment when no one seemed to be looking to walk towards canolles, and said, without directly addressing him, in a tone which aroused his keenest apprehension:—

"if i were a prisoner of war, upon parole, for fear lest the agreement made with me might be violated, i would leap upon a good horse and ride to the river; i would give ten, twenty, a hundred louis, if need be, to a boatman, but i would leave the city."

canolles gazed at the two women in utter amazement, and they simultaneously made a terrified gesture which he could not comprehend. he walked toward them to seek an explanation of the words he had heard, but they fled like phantoms, one with her finger on her lips to enjoin silence upon him, the other waving her hand to bid him fly.

at that moment he heard his name at the gate.

he shuddered from head to foot; the name must have been pronounced by the viscountess's messenger, and he darted in that direction.

"is monsieur le baron de canolles here?" a loud voice asked.

"yes," cried canolles, forgetting everything else to remember only claire's promise; "yes, here i am."

"you are monsieur de canolles?" said a man in uniform passing through the gate.

"yes, monsieur."

"governor of ?le saint-georges?"

"yes."

"formerly captain in the navailles regiment?"

"yes."

the sergeant, for such he seemed to be, waved his hand, and four soldiers, hidden from sight by a carriage, at once came forward; the carriage itself drove up so that its step was close to the gate, and the sergeant ordered canolles to enter.

the young man looked about. he was absolutely alone, except that he could see, among the trees in the distance, madame de lalasne and her sister, like two ghosts, gazing at him, as he fancied, with compassion.

"pardieu!" he said to himself, utterly unable to comprehend what was going on; "madame de cambes has selected a strange escort for me. however," he added, smiling at his own thought, "we must not be too particular as to the means."

"we are waiting for you, commandant," said the sergeant.

"i beg your pardon, messieurs," canolles replied, "i am ready;" and he entered the carriage.

the sergeant and two soldiers entered it with him; the other two took their places, one beside the driver, and the other behind, and the lumbering vehicle rolled away as rapidly as two sturdy horses could draw it.

all this was passing strange, and canolles began to feel decidedly nervous.

"monsieur," said he to the sergeant, "now that we are by ourselves, can you tell me where you are taking me?"

"why, to prison in the first place, commandant," was the reply.

canolles stared at the man in dumb amazement.

"what! to prison!" he exclaimed at last. "do you not come from a lady?"

"we do, indeed."

"and is not that lady madame la vicomtesse de cambes?"

"no, monsieur, that lady is madame la princesse de condé."

"madame la princesse de condé!" cried canolles.

"poor young man!" murmured a woman who was passing; and she made the sign of the cross.

canolles felt a shudder of fear run through his veins.

a little farther on, a man who was running along the street, pike in hand, stopped when he saw the carriage and the soldiers. canolles put his head through the window, and the man evidently recognized him, for he shook his fist at him with an angry and threatening expression.

"good god! people have gone crazy in this city of yours," said canolles, still trying to smile. "have i become in one hour an object of pity or of detestation, that some pity me and others threaten me?"

"ah! monsieur," the sergeant replied, "those who pity you make no mistake, and it may be that those who threaten you are quite right to do so."

"if i only could understand what it all means," said canolles.

"you will very soon understand, monsieur."

they reached the door of the prison, where canolles was ordered to alight, amid the crowd which was beginning to collect. instead of taking him to his usual room, they led him down into a cell filled with guards.

"i must know what i am to expect," he said to himself; and taking two louis from his pocket he went up to a soldier and put them in his hand.

the soldier hesitated about receiving them.

"take them, my friend," said canolles, "for the question i am about to ask you cannot compromise you in any way."

"say on, then, commandant," rejoined the soldier, first pocketing the two louis.

"very good! i would like to know the reason of my sudden arrest."

"it would seem," said the soldier, "that you have not heard of poor monsieur richon's death?"

"richon dead!" cried canolles, in a tone of heartfelt sorrow, for the close friendship between the two men will be remembered. "was he killed when the fortress was taken?"

"no, commandant, he has been hanged since."

"hanged!" muttered canolles, with pallid cheeks, looking about at the ominous surroundings and the savage faces of his keepers. "hanged! the devil! this is likely to postpone my wedding indefinitely!"