"No, I am Marguerite de Matigny. Louise is in the corridor." "Let us come away from here," said Aline, taking the lantern, and they hastened through the two dark rooms, meeting Louise at the farthest door. She was a tall, haggard woman, with loose grey hair and restless, terrified eyes. Mlle Ange drew her aside, whispering, and after a moment the fear went out of her face, leaving a sallow exhaustion in its place. "It is a miracle," she was saying as Aline and Marguerite joined them. "The saints know how we got here. I remember nothing, I am too tired; and Madame,—how she is not dead! Nothing would hold her, when the doctor told her she had a mortal complaint. If you know Madame, you will know that she laughed. ’Mon Dieu,’ she said to me, ’I have had one mortal complaint for ten years now, and that is old age, but since he says I have another, no doubt he is right, and the two together will kill me.’ Then she said, ’Pack my mail, Louise, for I do not choose to die here, where no one has ever heard of the Montenay.’ ’But, Mademoiselle,’ I said, and Madame shrugged her shoulders. ’But the Terror,’ I said, and indeed, Ma’mselle, I went on my knees to her, but if you think she cared! Not the least in the world, and here we are, and God knows what comes next! I am afraid, very much afraid, Ma’mselle." "Yes, and so am I," whispered Marguerite, pinching Aline’s arm. "It is really dreadful here. La tante mad, and this old house all ghosts and horrors, and nothing to eat, it is triste,—yes, I can tell you it is triste." "We will come again," said Aline, kissing her, "and at least there is food here." "Yes, take the basket, Louise," said Mlle Ange, "and now we must go." "Oh, no, don’t go," cried Marguerite. "Stay just a little—" but Louise broke in—— "No, no, Ma’mselle, let them go. Madame would not be pleased. I thought I heard her call just now." She shrugged her shoulders expressively, and Marguerite released her friend with a little sobbing kiss. "Come, Aline," said Mlle Ange with dignity, and they went down the echoing stair in silence. Neither spoke for a long while. Then amongst the deeper shadows of the wood Aline heard a curiously strained voice say: "So you are Rochambeau, and noble?" "Yes." "Marthe said so from the first; she is always right." "Yes." A little pause, and then Ange said passionately: "What made you give that name? Are you ashamed to be called Dangeau?" "She was so old, and of my kin; I said the name that she would know. Oh, I do not know why I said it," faltered Aline. "Does he know it, Jacques?" "Yes, oh yes!" "He knew before you were married?" "Yes, always; he has been so good." "So good, and you his wife, and could deny his name! I do not understand you, Aline de Rochambeau." Aline flushed scarlet in the darkness. Her own name spoken thus seemed to set a bruise upon her heart. "It was not that," she cried: "I do not know why I said it, but it was not to deny—him."