Without noticing the sneer by any reply, D'Aubin raised the senseless form of Eugenie de Menancourt in his arms, and followed by the rest, bore her down one flight of stairs to the chapel, which, as usual in many of the principal hotels of Paris at that time, was attached to the dwelling, and independent of the parochial clergy. During his short absence, the Count had taken care that his own followers and those of Mayenne should clear that part of the house of the attendants of the unhappy object of his persecution, so that, by the way, he met with neither opposition nor inquiry. The chapel was reached, and all was found prepared, with the priest standing at the altar. The situation of Eugenie instantly called his attention, however, and he exclaimed, "I cannot go on till the lady has recovered." "Nobody wishes you, sir priest," exclaimed D'Aubin, sharply. "Some one bring water; quick!" This command was rendered unnecessary, however; for by this time Eugenie was beginning to regain that miserable consciousness of the evils that surrounded her, from which even temporary insensibility had been a relief. Madame de Montpensier raised her head; Mayenne, in broken and scarcely intelligible terms, endeavoured to speak a few words of comfort; and, being lifted up before the altar, the vain ceremony of her marriage with the Count d'Aubin was begun by the priest, in hurried and not very distinct tones. Rallying all her powers for one last effort, Eugenie freed herself from the hands of those who supported her, and once more distinctly and firmly protested her dissent from the idle rite which they were performing. Again overpowered, however, she sank upon her knees, the priest went on, and ere she well knew what past, the fatal ring was upon her finger. Snatching it off instantly, however, she cast it down upon the floor of the chapel, and again fell back fainting into the arms of Madame de Montpensier. "See her carried back to her own apartments, poor girl!" cried Mayenne; "and do you, Catherine, stay with her awhile, and comfort her." "Let us leave her with her own people, Charles," answered Madame de Montpensier, comprehending better than her brother the nature of the only solace that one in the situation of Eugenie de Menancourt could receive. "We are all comparatively strangers to her; and the best comfort in time of sorrow, to a woman's heart at least, is some familiar and long-remembered face. Will you call some of her own people, Monsieur le Comte d'Aubin?"