We opened our arms, and were about to meet, when simultaneously we caught sight of a tall man, wearing a mantle and star, a long feather and sword, who stood between the parted arras of the doorway, observing us with sinister eyes, while quietly smoothing his large collar of fine Flemish lace, and lounging against the door-post. 'Count Pappenheim!' I exclaimed, instinctively placing my hand into my sword-hilt. 'At your service, Monsieur l'Abbé, or Monsieur Scaramouche, by the devil's death! which you please.' How long had he been there? How much or how little he had heard of our interview, of her abhorrence for him and her love for me, of my route and purpose, I knew not. Quick as lightning, I asked these questions of myself, and sternly made a step towards him. He gave us a malicious smile, and with a bow of profound irony, said-- 'Mademoiselle de Lorraine and M. Blane, allow me kindly to end an interview, which, under all the circumstances, seems to have been sufficiently painful and prolonged. The Duke, your father, mademoiselle, sent me, as his most fitting messenger, to say that he would speak a few words with you, on a matter of the first importance to us both; thus I doubt not that our very good friend of the Garde du Corps Ecossais will excuse us.' This style of deportment, in which hatred, jealousy, and rage were skilfully veiled under a bland but ironical exterior, left me nothing more to urge at that time; and we bowed mutually, as with a heart swollen by fury, sorrow, and envy, I saw him take the cold white hand of the girl I loved--of Marie Louise--and lead her away. I was left alone, with nothing of her but the memory of her parting glance, which was so full of agony and expression, that I seem to see it still before me, even now, after the long lapse of many, many years. CHAPTER LII. THE CHAPEL IN THE WOOD. So ended my painful interview with Marie Louise. The lofty air assumed by this presumptuous Austrian lord rankled in my breast like a poisoned arrow! I longed to meet him alone--alone on the solitary highway, or in some deep and voiceless solitude, in any sequestered place where there would be none to see or to separate us; and where, with sword and dagger, we might prove which was the better man, or which was the greater braggart of the two. For the present, there was nothing for me but to retreat, leaving him in quiet possession of the battlefield and of the contested prize, alas! for hope, had I none! That fickle fortune would ever afford to one so humble, a prospect or a plea for disputing her hand and love with the son and heir of Pappenheim, the rival of Tilly--he whose pride made him spurn even the Golden Fleece was more than a madman's dream.