“Thou hast in this time known none but the man Flammecœur?”
Laure crimsoned and put up her hand in protest. Then she said quietly, “None.”
Monseigneur bowed his head and remained silent for a moment. When he looked at her again it was with a gentler expression. “Laure,” said he, in a very kindly voice, “but a little time after thy flight from the priory, I placed upon thee, and upon the man that abducted thee, the ban of excommunication, for violating the holiest laws of the Holy Church. That ban is not yet raised, and by it, as well thou knowest, all that come in voluntary contact with thee are defiled.”
For a moment Laure dropped her head to her breast. When she lifted it again, her face had not changed; and she asked, “Can that ban ever be lifted?”
“Yes. By me.”
Laure fell upon her knees before him. “What must I do? Tell me the penance! I would give anything—even to my life—yet—nay! There is one thing I will not do.”
St. Nazaire frowned. “What is that?” he asked.
“Father, I will not go back into the priory. I will never return alive into that living death. Rather would I cast myself from the top of the Castle cliff into the sea below, and trust—”
“Laure! Laure! Be silent!” cried Eleanore, sharply.
Laure stopped and stood motionless, her eyes aflame, her face deathly white, her fingers twining and intertwining among themselves, as she waited for St. Nazaire to speak again. His hands were folded upon his knee, and he appeared lost in thought. Only after an unendurable suspense did he look again into the girl’s eyes, saying slowly, in a tone lower than was habitual to him,—