"Then you seal your own fate, Eugenie de Menancourt," replied D'Aubin, "and things must take their course, as already arranged. Yet think not that this arrangement has been planned solely to gratify me. Other and more important interests are involved therein, and you will see by this note from the Duke of Mayenne, that motives of state necessity compel both him and me to abridge that ceremonious delicacy which otherwise would have been extended towards you." Eugenie took the paper, and tried to read it over; but agitation and apprehension caused the letters to dance before her eyes, and she only gathered the general import, and saw that as far as Mayenne and the Count d'Aubin had power, her fate was sealed indeed. Although her resolution remained in full force, and her mind was as unconquered as ever, she felt that her bodily powers were failing her; and fearful that Aubin should see how much she was overcome, as well as anxious for a few hours of uninterrupted thought, she waved her hand for him to leave her. "Not one word more?" he said, advancing as if to take her hand. "Not one word more?" "No," replied Eugenie, shrinking back from him with involuntary horror. "No, I have nothing more to say." D'Aubin turned on his heel, mortified to the very heart by the personal dislike which he marked with the keen eyes of wounded vanity: and without another word, left Eugenie to solitude, and to feelings very nearly akin to despair. CHAPTER XXI. A long summer's day was over, and nothing remained of its splendour but a fading tint of purple in the deep blue sky; while Venus and the moon came hand in hand together above the trees, as if to divide between their bright but gentle rule the tranquil kingdom of the night. The royal camp no longer sounded with the clang of arms or the tramp of marching men; the man[oe]uvres for the day were over; and the soldiery, quartered in the village of St. Cloud itself, had left the streets vacant, while they sought consolation after all the labours and exertions of the morning, in the gay evening meal and often replenished flask. The body of the dead king lay--almost forgotten, by those who had fed upon his bounty and encouraged his vices,--in the house where the hand of the assassin had struck him; and lights were just beginning to twinkle in the windows of the old chateau where the new monarch had fixed his abode the night after his accession to the tottering throne of France.