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"There is always one way of escape, madame, and I am my father's daughter."
"And there is a God above, girl. Your father's daughter should never talk like that."
"Then why does He not hear my prayers?" I said, in impious forgetfulness. "Is heaven so far that our voices cannot reach there?"
And my dear old friend sighed deeply in answer.
We were to halt at Chalusset for the night, and here confirmation was received of the truth of de Clermont's story, for an equerry of the Vicomte's met us here with a letter to his wife in his own hand, in which he said that our message, the one we had sent from the Gartempe, had reached him, and that he was hastening forward himself to meet us. Then he went on to other matters, and his letter concluded with a postscript:
"M. Norreys is here with an order from the King, or, rather, from the Queen Mother. It is very unfortunate, but must be obeyed."
She first read the letter herself-we were sitting together in her apartment, in the one inn at Chalusset-and then she handed it to me with a request to read it aloud to her. I did so; but on coming to the postscript my voice faltered in spite of myself, and then she bent forward and kissed me.
"Denise, it will never be. Are you strong enough to do a brave thing?"
"I will try."
"It is clear to me that de Termes' postscript is a warning for you not to go to Périgueux. I knew that he would be incapable of carrying out such orders as he has received-and I can read his meaning between the lines of his message. Denise, you must not be with me when my husband and I meet."
"God Himself seems to have abandoned me. What can I do-where shall I hide?"
"I will tell you. My sister Louise is Abbess of Our Lady of Meymac. I will send you to her. The convent has special rights of sanctuary that even Catherine herself would not dare to violate-but she will never know you are there. Yet it is a long journey, and you will have to cross the mountains. Will you risk it tonight?"
"I am ready now, madame."
"Very well," and, calling to her maid, she asked for Lalande, and when the equerry came she turned to him:
"Lalande, how long is it that you have followed Monsieur le Vicomte?"
"Thirty years, madame, from the days when Monsieur was a simple cavalier of the guard."
"And you would do anything for Monsieur?"
"Madame, I have been his man in lean times and in fat-in famine and in full harvest. He saved my life at Cerisolles, and it was I who got him out of the Bastille; I have been by his side from the time he was a simple gentleman to the present day, when Monsieur is a marshal and a peer of France. You ask if I would do anything for Monsieur. If Monsieur le Vicomte were to ask me to lay down my life to-morrow I would do so willingly."
"I believe you, Lalande. Now listen. Madame de Lorgnac here is in great danger. It is Monsieur le Vicomte's wish that she should be conveyed to the Convent of Our Lady of Meymac, and we trust her to you. No one is to know where she is placed. You must protect her with your life-do you understand? And you must start now-and alone-for Madame's hiding-place is a secret."
"We could start in a few minutes, madame, and I will do what you say."
"Then be ready in half an hour."
"Madame," and he was gone.
"Do not let Mousette know whither you are bound, Denise. She is a chattering ape, and, though she loves you, can never keep a secret. As for de Termes, I will arrange to manage him-and, dear, keep a brave heart. I would go with you myself; but you know it is impossible."
The moon was just rising when, after taking an affectionate farewell of Madame de Termes, who had been to me as a mother, we started-Mousette, Lalande, and myself. Our horses had been brought to a little gate at the back of the straggling garden attached to the inn, by the equerry himself, so that we might get away unobserved. Hither Madame accompanied us, and after giving some further instructions in a low tone to Lalande, embraced me again and again, and I am afraid we both wept, whilst Mousette joined in to keep us company. Finally we started, and I turned once or twice to look back, and saw the slender grey-clad figure still at the gate, growing fainter and fainter in outline at each step we took, and seeming at last to slip away into the silver haze of the moonlight, until when I turned for the last time, I could see nothing but the winding road, the ghostly outline of the trees, and the pointed roof of the inn. I have often wondered if the girls of the present day would endure and act as we women had to do then. All women have to endure passively. This will be so for all time unless the world be made anew, but with us there were times and seasons when we had to act like men.
Last year, when I was in Paris, where I had taken my daughter for her presentation, a great lady called on me, the wife and daughter of a soldier, and she reached our house almost in hysterics, because one of the wheels of her coach had come off, and she had to walk a hundred paces or so. She was in fear of her life at the accident. And when we had made much of her and she was gone, my husband's eyes met mine, and the same thought struck us both, for he came up and kissed me, saying: