Above the altar hung a Madonna with attenuated arms and too long a neck, as the "Primitives" in their naïve awkwardness like to picture her. Blanche knelt before her and lisped an Ave and the Lord's Prayer; then turning to the saint who, stiff and complacent, gazed down from his pedestal, she drew the ring off his finger and put it on her own. Just at this moment she heard a slight rustle outside, a confused feeling of dread and fear suddenly came over her,--a vague, painful fear of all the mysterious powers of night and darkness. Quite beside herself, she was hurrying out of the chapel when, in her confusion, she almost rushed into the arms of a man who stepped toward her in the adjacent hall. Although she had passed so softly through the house, one ear had recognised her step,--Henri de Lancy,--by whose chamber she was obliged to go in her way to the chapel. And now he stood before her, and his blue eyes shone in the clear moonlight, and he bent over her smiling. She started back, but did not fly--only remained standing as if spellbound. When he seized her hand and she tried to free herself, however, he held her fast, whispering, "Stay only a little while, I pray you; I've so much to say to you!" "Leave me! leave me!" she cried, timidly. "Only a minute!" he begged of her. "You have always avoided me, I could never say it to you, but indeed you must long have known how infinitely I love you!" He stooped over her--she trembled like a delicate rose-bud with which the spring wind plays. She thought of the saint's ring which she had on her finger for the purpose of conjuring Heaven to grant her Henri de Lancy's love. Had the conjuration then worked so speedily? Oh, measureless joy! Oh, never-anticipated blessedness! And yet-- It was so still--so late! "Leave me! leave me!" she whispered. "Wait, I must ask Gottfried." "And do you believe he will know better than yourself whether you love me?" He laid his arm round her--his kiss hovered over her lips--when--the door was torn open, and, with drawn dagger and face distorted with rage, Gottfried rushed upon De Lancy. "Cowardly traitor!" he yelled, and stopped, for Blanche, uttering a hoarse shriek of anguish, stretched out her arms before the beloved man to protect him. Woe! woe! in this moment the enchanted ring slipped from her finger! VII Angry men's voices echoed through the halls and galleries--then stillness reigned again. Without, the dewdrops rustled in the leaves, but the nightingales were hushed. In her lonely chamber sat a pale, sad girl, tearless and comfortless. When the gray morning came a gloomy rider stormed out of the castle. VIII