He went back to the carriage. The girl was already nearly out of sight in the darkness. “Run, little one,” he said. “I know where you’re going and you shan’t escape me, I’ve had enough of playing the St. Bernard without even getting a lump of sugar for my pains. When Lupin sets out on a path, he goes to the end of it and never fails to reach his goal. You are his goal to-day, you and your green eyes and warm lips!” He left William with his carriage and hurried to the station. The train came in. He got into a compartment without being seen by the girl. Two compartments, full of passengers, separated them. An hour afterwards he stole down the corridor to take a look at her. She was asleep with her head wrapped in a shawl. At Lourdes the train left the main line; an hour later it arrived at Pierrefitte-Nestales, the terminal. Ralph hung back; scarcely had the girl reached the platform than a band of young girls, all dressed alike in chestnut frocks and cloaks bordered with a broad blue ribbon, rushed at her, followed by a nun wearing an immense white cap. “Aurelie! Aurelie! You’ve come at last!” they cried. The girl with the green eyes passed from the arms of one to the arms of another. Last of all the nun hugged her affectionately and said joyfully: “How pleased I am to see you again, Aurelie dear! And you’re going to stay a good month with us, aren’t you?” CHAPTER VI BETWEEN THE BRANCHES With her arm through the arm of the nun and surrounded by her young companions carrying her luggage, the girl with the green eyes walked, smiling happily, towards a brake drawn by three mules. They climbed into it; and it set off up the steep road to Luz, with a tinkling of the mules’ bells. Ralph, who had kept out of sight, hired a Victoria to carry him to Luz. “Ah, my pretty lady with the green eyes, henceforth you are my prisoner,” murmured Ralph. “An accomplice of a murderer, a burglar, and a blackmailer, murderess yourself, daughter of the polite world, prima donna of light opera, boarder at a convent—whatever you may be, you shall not slip between my fingers again. Trust is a prison from which one cannot escape; and however angry you may be with me for stealing those kisses, in the bottom of your heart you trust the man who never tires of saving you and is always on the spot when you stand on the edge of the abyss. One grows attached to one’s St. Bernard, even if he has bitten you once. “Lady with the green eyes, who takes refuge in a convent to escape all those who persecute you, till something fresh happens, you shall not be to me a criminal or formidable adventuress, or even a singer of light opera, and I shall not call you Leonide Balli. I shall call you Aurelie. It’s a name I love because it’s old-fashioned and honest and suits a little sister of the poor.