"My daughter," answered Christian, turning to Robert Estienne a face bathed in tears, "my daughter is not aware of the young monk's passion—and, in her turn, she loves him."
"Unhappy child!"
"Her love is killing her. It was one of the reasons that decided her to take the veil. She has told me all, with her natural candor."
"Have Hena and the young monk met since they are here?"
"No. The poor young man—his name was Ernest Rennepont before he took orders—the moment he learned from me of my daughter's presence in the house, wanted to deliver himself forthwith to the Superior of his Order, lest we be all taken for accomplices in his flight. I firmly objected to his determination, seeing it meant the loss of his life."
"Then these young folks are unaware that their love is reciprocated?"
"It will be her death, Monsieur Estienne, it will be her death! I lose my head endeavoring to find a way out of this tangle of ills. What am I to do? What shall I decide? I asked you to come to me without saying why, because I rely upon your great wisdom. You may, perhaps, be able to light the chaos of these afflictions which cause me to stagger with despair. I see only pitfalls and perils around us."
Christian paused.
Robert Estienne remained a few minutes steeped in silent reflection.
"My friend," said the latter, "you know the life of Luther as well as I. That great reformer, a monk like Ernest Rennepont, and, like him, one time full of faith in the Roman Church, withdrew from her fold on account of the scandals that he witnessed. Do you think Ernest Rennepont is ready to embrace the Reformation?"