Quickly, however, her thoughts wandered back again to the present; and once more she listened for Blanchette's return. Where could she have gone? she asked herself; what could be her motive, if something were not discovered? Her own heart was too pure to attribute to the girl that conduct which, perhaps, if she had known all, would have been first suspected; but as she raised herself on her arm, to give ear to some distant noise, she heard the outer door of the ante-room open again, and the step of the maid moving about in the neighbouring chamber. With a beating heart, and in breathless silence, Rose marked every sound, till at length a thin line of light, which crossed the floor from the key-hole, was suddenly extinguished; and she heard the girl take her place in bed. A few minutes after, the clock of the château struck twelve, but Rose still lay quiet for some minutes in order that the spy upon her actions might be asleep before she moved. Blanchette, however, was one of the "dull weeds" that easily fasten themselves on "Lethe's shore." Herself was all she thought of, all she cared for; and, having provided to the best of her ability for the success and prosperity of that well-loved person, she was soon in the arms of slumber, undisturbed by any of the reproaches of conscience, or the lighter tones of imagination. The heavy breathing of profound and dreamless sleep was heard erelong; and, rising from her bed, Rose d'Albret dressed herself as well as she could in the darkness, and drew down the tapestry over the door between her room and that of the maid, to prevent Blanchette from hearing any sound within. She feared that she should not be ready in time; and she hastened all her preparations eagerly, as much to withdraw her own thoughts from fears and apprehensions, as to guard against being too late; but, as so often happens, all was complete long before the hour; and for nearly twenty minutes, she sat at a little distance from the window, trembling with agitation and alarm. She had now full time to give way to all the busy thoughts that naturally sprang from her situation. She felt she loved--she trusted she was beloved in return; but still to fly with De Montigni from all other protection--to put herself entirely in his power--to cast herself thus into his arms; it was rash, she thought; it was foolish. Would he continue to love her? Might not his quickly-roused passion die away as soon? Might he not be the first to think her rash confidence in him, bold, almost immodest? "No, no!" she answered, "he would not do so; he was too kind--too generous. He always had been. Why should she think him changed in mind and heart, in thought and feeling, since the bright days of his boyhood, when she had loved him so well? Did he not tell her that he had always loved her?--did he not promise to love her always?--and when had he ever broken his word? No, no! It was but agitation and weak terror made her doubt."