"A negro, whom he named Benoit."
"Benoit le Noir?"
"Yes, Eulalie."
"My father's old slave, who tended me in prison and assisted me to escape from St. Pierre, and who afterwards became the property of Rouvigny. A fresh corroboration that this pretended priest is my tormentor."
"Had I but known this yesterday, the rope of the provost marshal's guard would have made short work with the spy."
"Ah! Mère de Dieu! Do not talk so; for this man's life is indissolubly connected with mine."
"Some friendly ball, at present lying quietly in an ammunition-cask, may break the spell, Eulalie."
She covered her face with her tremulous white hands, and sobbed heavily.
I shall not occupy time in relating how unavailing, by the pressure of necessity, were the tears and entreaties of Eulalie, that I should remain for her protection, or how graceful were the prayers she put up for my safety, when she found that I must leave her; and how charming were the whispered promises, that whatever fate had in store for her, she would write to me often—oh, very often, and remember me for ever; that she would keep a little journal of all her lonely thoughts, and on each anniversary of her patroness, St. Ursule, she would say a novena, or nine-days prayer, for me and my prosperity. Poor Eulalie!
Her earnest words, her musical accents, her tender expression, and the chaste features of her pale, sad face, sank deeply into my memory, as I kissed her on the lips and eyes; and we parted, both in tears, for I was still but a boy.