"Surely, _belle dame_, I can tell you. Come with me, I am going that way," and the woman stares at her again. "Why are you out so early? Are you from the palace?" "No, no!" gasps La Vallière, terrified to death lest the woman's suspicions should be aroused, and that she would refuse to let her follow her. "I am not from the palace. Ask me nothing. I can only tell you that a great misfortune has happened to me, and that I am going to consult the Superior of Sainte-Marie, at Chaillot, who is my friend." The peasant asks no more questions, and La Vallière, who clings to her side, arrives in due time under the walls of Chaillot. "There, mademoiselle, is the Church of the Sisters of Sainte-Marie. God speed you." Louise rings the bell, and asks the portress to be permitted to speak with the Superior. "She is in retreat, madame, and cannot be disturbed," the portress replies. "In the name of God, my sister, tell her that a person in great affliction craves her help." The portress does not immediately answer, but leads her into a hall within, at one end of which is the latticed _grille_ which divides the professed nuns from the lay sisters. An hour passes, and no one appears. La Vallière, fatigued by the unaccustomed exercise, almost distracted, gazes wistfully at the bare walls that surround her. This then is to be the living tomb of her youth, her love. This grim refuge or the grave. She turns to the strong door, bound with iron bars, by which she entered, and shudders. She watches the handle; no one comes, not a sound breaks the silence. It seems to her that God and man have alike forsaken her—a creature so vile, so unworthy. Her repentance has come too late. Heaven's mercy-gates are closed! A wild, unreasoning terror seizes her—her brain beats as with iron hammers—she grows cold and faint—a mist gathers before her eyes—a deadly sickness creeps over her—she falls senseless on the stone floor. When she opens her eyes, she is lying upon a clean bed, shaded by snowy curtains, in a little white-washed cell; two dark-robed Carmelite sisters are bending over her. It was not long before the King heard that La Vallière had fled. Not daring to make too public inquiries, he sent for the superintendent of police, La Regnie. "Find Mademoiselle de la Vallière," he says, "dead or alive; find her instantly—instantly, I say, or I dismiss you from my service." This was not difficult; the trembling steps of the fugitive were soon traced. La Regnie returns, and informs his royal master that La Vallière is within the Convent of Chaillot. Louis does not lose a moment in following her. He appears at the convent gate, accompanied by his confidant, Lauzun. He demands admittance. Some of the older nuns, scandalised at the idea of a man entering the cloister, refuse to unlock the gate; but the Mother-Superior, wiser in her generation, herself descends, and key in hand undoes the fastenings, and welcomes his Majesty with the utmost deference.