Angèle ran quickly towards the door, then stopped short. No, she would not waken him. She would go back at once. She would leave the palace by the way she came. Without a word she turned and went towards the door opening into the hallway. With her hand upon the latch she stopped short again, for she realized that she did not know her way through the passages and corridors, and that she must make herself known to the servants of the palace to obtain guidance and exit. As she stood helpless and confused, the seigneur called, hoarsely, “De la Forêt! De la Forêt!” Before Angèle could decide upon her course the curtain of the other room was thrust aside and De la Forêt entered. He was scarce awake, and he yawned contentedly. He did not see Angèle, but turned towards Lemprière. For once the seigneur had a burst of inspiration. He saw that Angèle was in the shadow, and that De la Forêt had not observed her. He determined that the lovers should meet alone. “Your arm, De la Forêt,” he grunted. “I’ll get me to the bed in yonder room--’tis easier than this couch.” “Two hours ago you could not bear the bed, and must get you to the couch--and now! Seigneur, do you know the weight you are?” he added, laughing, as he stooped, and, helping Lemprière gently to his feet, raised him slowly in his arms and went heavily with him to the bedroom. Angèle watched him with a strange thrill of timid admiration and delight. Surely it could not be that Michel--her Michel--could be bought from his allegiance by any influence on earth. There was the same old simple laugh on his lips as, with chaffing words, he carried the huge seigneur to the other room. Her heart acquitted him then and there of all blame, past or to come. “Michel!” she said aloud, involuntarily--the call of her spirit which spoke on her lips against her will. De la Forêt had helped Lemprière to the bed again as he heard his name called, and he stood suddenly still, looking straight before him into space. Angèle’s voice seemed ghostly and unreal. “Michel!” he heard again, and he came forward into the room where she was. Yet once again she said the word scarcely above a whisper, for the look of rapt wonder and apprehension in his manner overcame her. Now he turned towards her, where she stood in the shadow by the door. He saw her, but even yet he did not stir, for she seemed to him still an apparition. With a little cry she came forward to him. “Michel--help me!” she murmured, and stretched out her hands. With a cry of joy he took her in his arms, and pressed her to his heart. Then a realization of danger came to him. “Why did you come?” he asked. She told him hastily. He heard with astonishment, and then said: “There is some foul trick here. Have you the message?” She handed it to him. “It is the surgeon’s writing, verily,” he said; “but it is still a trick, for the sick man here is Rozel. I see it all. You and I forbidden to meet--it was a trick to bring you here!”