Lauriane had suffered much during those five months of mental constraint; she too had lost color and flesh; she had attended, without a murmur, all the religious services, maintaining a dignified and respectful demeanor, praying to God with all her soul before the Catholic altars, and abstaining from any reflection that might have wounded the saintlike maidens of the Annunciation. But when they urged her to renounce her faith, she bowed, as if to say: _I understand_, and met all the questions that were put to her with an obstinate silence. It was no time for her to assert her liberty of conscience when it might be that her father was prostrate under the headsman's axe. So she held her peace and submitted to their importunities with the stoicism of a sufferer who, with his hands bound, listens to the flies buzzing about his head, unable to brush them away, but unwilling even to wink. On all other occasions she treated the sisters with the greatest respect, and won their hearts by the most delicate attentions. Luckily, a truly Christian spirit reigned among them. They prayed for her conversion, they prayed for her salvation, and they left her in peace. It was a miracle; elsewhere Lauriane, might, in desperation, have been accused of witchcraft and condemned to perish by earthly flames; that was the last resource when the persecuted heretics had the courage to refuse to be convicted of heresy by their own admissions. At last, on November 30th, our friends, overflowing with joy and hope, returned to the château of Briantes. They had received good news from Monsieur de Beuvre. He had written many times; but his messengers had been intercepted or had betrayed their trust. He was to return very soon, and he did, in fact, return. He was welcomed with much feasting and merrymaking; after which they talked of separating. It was proper that Lauriane should return to her own château, and the bulky De Beuvre felt cramped in the small manor of Briantes. Lauriane could not manifest before her father the slightest reluctance to resume her life with him. Indeed she was conscious of no such reluctance, she was so happy to have him at home again. And yet she felt a sudden and involuntary chill of sadness when she entered the dismal château of La Motte. The Beaux Messieurs de Bois-Doré escorted her thither, and, at her father's request, were to remain two or three days with her. Mercedes and Jovelin were of the party. It was not therefore the sensation of solitude taking possession of her already; indeed, might they not, were they not certain to see one another almost every day?