"Why, how long have you been awake—did you—did you hear music—singing?"
"No, no; but in truth, dear Lucille, I thought I heard you weeping."
"O, nonsense; who minds a girl's weeping. But you heard nothing else?"
"No, indeed."
Lucille appeared greatly relieved by this assurance. She stooped over her and kissed her; and it was not until her face was thus brought near that Julie could perceive how worn and wan with weeping it was.
"I have been dreaming, then; yes, yes, I suspected as much—dreaming," she said; and, as she reached her own room, she muttered—
"Well, God be thanked, she did not hear it. But what can it mean? What madness and crime can have conjured up these sounds? What can it mean but guilt, danger, and despair?"
VII.—THE DEVIL'S COACH.
It seemed to Julie that Lucille was moody and abstracted next morning. Sometimes for a few moments she talked and smiled as before, but this was fitfully, and with an effort. She appeared like one brooding over some wrong that had taken possession of her thoughts, or some dark and angry scheme which engrossed her imagination. She soon left Julie and retired to her own apartments.
When Monsieur Le Prun returned, some time after noon, not finding his young wife in her usual chamber, he went up stairs to wish her good day in her own suite of rooms.