"I assure you, monseigneur, the princess is in no danger; the restorative the doctor has given her has greatly recruited her strength."
David soon returned. She was better, but had insisted upon continuing her vigil, consenting only to kneel upon a cushion.
"She is in the church, then?" cried I.
"Yes, monseigneur, but she will quit it in a quarter of an hour."
I entered the church, and, by the faint light of a lamp, I saw her kneeling and praying fervently. Three o'clock struck; two sisters, seated in the stalls, advanced and spoke to her; she crossed herself, rose, and traversed the choir with a firm step, and yet as she passed the lamp she seemed to me deathly pale. I remain at the abbey until the ceremony be over. I think now it is useless to send this letter incomplete. I will forward it to-morrow, with all the details of this sad day. Adieu, dearest!—I am heart-broken—pity!
R.