"Who is Lucille?" asked Maurice.
"You shall see her presently."
"Christine, you are not glad that I am going to Vayenne," Maurice said, as he held the door open for her.
"Yes—yes, I am; but you don't understand, and—and I want to be alone."
It was Maurice who showed Lucille over the ruined castle, stood with her looking over the village below and across the open country from the broken walls, and steadied her as they climbed down the narrow, worn steps to the dungeons, which had received no prisoners for generations, he told her. They had not been long together before he had learned her history, and he told her that he would ask Duke Roger to restore the fortunes of her family.
"He is the most splendid Duke Montvilliers has ever had," he said enthusiastically.
"I wish I were a man to serve him," answered the girl, catching the enthusiasm from her companion.
"I'm very glad you are not," he answered, and then feeling that he was unequal to explaining his words, he hurried her to some other interesting point of the castle.
Christine remained alone all day, remembering every incident since the dusty priest had come to that very castle to warn her, to offer his service, and wondering what the immediate future held. What was the Duke's purpose regarding her cousin Maurice?
When, on the following morning, the cavalcade set out, Christine rode alone. Maurice soon found that she took little notice of what he said to her, that she was altogether absorbed in her own thoughts, and there was more enjoyment in riding beside Lucille. It was pleasure to watch the girl's color come and go, to see in her fresh young beauty a likeness to the fresh, new day, to feel that her merry laughter which rang out at intervals was the most beautiful sound on God's beautiful earth. For Maurice a new page was turned in life's book. Here was the beginning of a new chapter, full of love and romance, of excitement and success, and with pictures exceedingly pleasant to look upon.