"Why, whom should she fly to, but Monsieur de Chazeul?" asked the page.
"Fly to him!" replied Estoc in a sharp tone. "She would fly from him to the farthest part of the earth. She abhors him. She hates him. Poor silly boy, you are mistaken."
The page looked puzzled. "He loved her once," he said in a meditative tone, "and she him. Of that I am very sure; for I took the letters."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the other, "then you owe her some gratitude; for she would not tell who brought them, for fear of injuring you, though dear enough it cost her."
"Ah, sweet lady!" cried the boy, "that is so like her.--Poor Mademoiselle Helen, I would die for her willingly," and the tears rose in his young eyes.
"Well, then," said Estoc, "watch for the opportunity of proving how you love her. You may find it soon also. Look well about you; mark every word, and yet seem unconscious; be ready to obey her in an instant: and above all remember, that, of all beings she has most cause to hate and dread, it is Monsieur de Chazeul. There is no one whom you can trust within the Château of Marzay, except father Walter, but least of all Nicholas de Chazeul. Her life may depend upon you, upon your prudence, upon your courage, and upon your quickness; and if you be driven forth, as she was, for serving her, come to me, and I will take you into my band, and make a soldier of you--I shall not be far distant."
The boy clapped his hands gladly; but Estoc went on, "No more, my good lad, at present. Go back to the château with all speed; say not a word to any one of having seen me; but tell the Marchioness how the old woman kept you before she would get the book."
"Stay, stay," cried the page; "I am not to know that Madame did not send me; is it not so?"
"Certainly," replied Estoc; "you are to forget all that I have told you, and only to remember that father Walter sent you for the book, and that you have brought it. That is all.--Now to your horse's back and away."
The boy obeyed at once, remounted, and rode off.