“No; I think it has been stopped in time,” answered Château-Foix not very reassuringly. There was a talk after that in Lucienne’s ears about final arrangements, and of seeing her at Madame Gaumont’s house, whither she was to go to-morrow. Then came good-bye, and a kiss which now she hardly felt. At last the door shut, and she was left alone. * * * * * * She sat there without moving, her hands locked together in her lap, suffering horribly. The flame which Louis de Saint-Ermay had lighted still burnt for him alone; wanting in depth as she might be, the girl was not of those who, after the first awakening of love, care not very greatly to whom they dedicate the flame. The emergence of the lover in Gilbert only terrified her; she did not take it for a tribute. Six months ago, in this very room, she had known another embrace; had sat on this very sofa, with her head on Louis’ shoulder, trying to reconcile herself to the bitter sacrifice which they must make for the sake of honour, and of the man who had a right to hold her in his arms. And almost impossible though the sacrifice had seemed at times, Lucienne had never lifted a finger to bring Saint-Ermay back. She was capable of renunciation—if only she had some one to help her. Her mistress, whom she adored, had been her support; it was the Princess’s strength that had upheld her all these six months. Lucienne had confided to Madame Elisabeth the whole episode, and the Princess, seeing that Lucienne was anxious to do right, had comforted and counselled her, and kept her on those heights which are more easy of first attainment than of permanent occupation. It never occurred to either of them—so binding did they consider a betrothal—that, putting aside the suffering caused to Lucienne and to her lover, the girl would be doing the Marquis a wrong to marry him when her heart could never be his. Meanwhile Lucienne was faithful to the course that she had laid down for herself, and she had never seen Louis alone again; indeed, as there was now no properly constituted court, they met seldom under any circumstances. The last encounter had been on the memorable day of the invasion of the mob, when he had made a rampart of his body for her safety. And to be so close to him for so long had transformed that day of terror—at least in memory—from an ordeal to a regretted joy.