The night which De Montigni first passed as a prisoner, was without repose, as it well might be. Had his busy thoughts permitted sleep to visit his eyelids during the first five hours of the night, the noises which rose up from below would have effectually banished the gentle guest; but those sounds were hardly heard by the captive, and, long after his servant had left him, he sat and mused; now reviewing the past; now forming airy schemes for the future, destroyed as soon as raised; now pondering over the bitter present with unavailing anger and regret. Shortly after daylight, he was up and dressed; and, when his servant again appeared, he sent him at once to the Duke of Nemours to know when he would fix his ransom, according to the custom of the day. The answer was cold and formal, "That Monsieur de Nemours would see the Baron de Montigni in the course of the morning, and would then inform him of his intentions." This was all that the man had been able to obtain; and, for many another impatient hour, De Montigni paced his narrow chamber, giving way to every dark and painful imagination, till, at length, a step, different from that of the guard at the door, was heard without, about an hour after noon, and the voice of the Duke of Nemours was instantly recognized by the prisoner, telling the soldier he might retire to the room below. They were words of good augury to the young nobleman, who mentally said, "He comes to name my ransom;" and the impression was farther confirmed by the cheerful and courteous countenance of the Duke, who entered the moment after, more with the air of an old acquaintance than a captor. "Well, Monsieur de Montigni," he said, "how have you passed the night? By heaven, they have assigned you but a paltry lodging here. 'Tis none of my doings this. La Bourdasière should have known better." "The lodging matters little, my Lord," answered De Montigni, "it is the imprisonment that is painful;" and, resolved to follow the determination he had formed the day before, and cast himself and Rose upon the generosity of the Duke, he added. "Nor is it my own captivity that is the most grievous to me. It is the imprisonment of the lady you found with me." "But she is not a prisoner, Monsieur de Montigni," replied Nemours; "therein you have made a mistake."