A terrible presentiment seized the young girl. When she left Madame de Beaumesnil the evening before, that lady was alarmingly, though not hopelessly ill; but now, these lights, this lugubrious silence, broken only by smothered sobs, indicated beyond a doubt that Madame de Beaumesnil was receiving the last sacrament. The young girl, overcome with grief and terror, felt that her strength was deserting her, and instinctively clutched at one of the consoles for support; then, endeavouring to conceal her emotion and her tears, again hastened on with tottering steps towards the group of servants in the open doorway of Madame de Beaumesnil's chamber, and knelt there in the midst of them. CHAPTER VIII. THE UNHAPPY SECRET. Through the open doorway before which Herminie had just knelt, she could see by the wan light of an alabaster lamp Madame de Beaumesnil, a woman only about thirty-eight years of age, but frightfully pale and emaciated. The countess, who was sitting up in bed, supported by pillows, had her hands clasped devoutly. Her features, once of rare beauty, were drawn and haggard, her large eyes, formerly of a clear, bright blue, had lost their lustre, though they were riveted with mingled anxiety and anguish upon the face of Abbe Ledoux, her parish priest, who had just administered the last sacrament. A minute before Herminie's arrival, Madame de Beaumesnil, lowering her voice still more, though weakness and suffering had already reduced it to little more than a faint whisper, had said to the priest: "Ah, my father, forgive me, but even at this solemn hour I cannot help thinking with even more bitterness of heart of that poor child,--my other daughter,--the unhappy fruit of a sin which has burdened my life with the most poignant remorse." "Hush, madame," replied the priest, who, as he cast a furtive glance at the kneeling servants, had just seen Herminie take her place in their midst; "hush, madame, she is here." "She is?" "Yes, she came in a moment ago, and is now kneeling with your people." As he spoke, the priest turned and walked towards the door to close it, after having first intimated by a gesture that the sad ceremony was over. "I remember now--that yesterday--when Herminie left me--I begged her to return to-day at this very hour. The physician was right,--the angelic voice of the dear child, her tender melodies, have often assuaged my sufferings." "Take care, madame. Be more prudent, I beg of you," pleaded the priest, alone now with the invalid. "Oh, I am. My daughter suspects nothing," answered Madame de Beaumesnil, with a bitter smile. "That is quite probable," said the priest, "for it was only chance, or, rather, the inscrutable will of Providence, that brought this young woman to your notice a short time ago. Doubtless it is the Saviour's will that you should be subjected to a still harder test."