“‘You are the kindest of friends.’
“But promptly, as if my lips had burnt her hand, she drew it back, and said, turning very pale,—
“‘No, don’t do that!’
“Then, overcoming her emotion to a certain degree, she added,—
“‘But we must meet once more. You have my letters, I dare say.’
“‘I have them all.’
“‘Well, you must bring them to me. But where? And how? I can hardly absent myself at this time. My youngest daughter—our daughter, Jacques—is very ill. Still, an end must be made. Let us see, on Thursday—are you free then? Yes. Very well, then come on Thursday evening, towards nine o’clock, to Valpinson. You will find me at the edge of the wood, near the towers of the old castle, which my husband has repaired.’
“‘Is that quite prudent?’ I asked.
“‘Have I ever left any thing to chance?’ she replied, ‘and would I be apt, at this time, to be imprudent? Rely on me. Come, we must part, Jacques. Thursday, and be punctual!’
“Was I really free? Was the chain really broken? And had I become once more my own master?