"He shall not hear it, till all is accomplished," replied the Marchioness. "I will take care of that. There is not a letter nor a note, be it from some sick farmer's pretty wife, requiring consolation from a kind confessor, that is not brought to me before it reaches his hands. It has cost me more golden crowns, Chazeul, since I came into this château, to secure good friends in the barbican, than would keep a prince's household half a year. However, he must know our plans in part, for fear he should discover them without being told. His consent once given, binds him to our course; so leave that to me, and go you upon your errand." Without pausing to thank his mother for all her care, Chazeul hastened away towards the apartments of Rose d'Albret. At the door of the ante-chamber, however, he paused for a moment to consider his proceedings, and then entered with a quick step, demanding in a loud and hurried tone, as soon as he saw Blanchette, "Can I speak with your mistress?" "Oh, yes, Sir," cried the girl, with a low courtesy, and a sweet smile; "you are to be admitted always." Opening the door, she looked in; and seeing Rose gaze sadly from the window, she threw it wider, exclaiming, without inquiry as to whether the lady would receive her visitor or not, "Monsieur de Chazeul, Mademoiselle." Rose turned a quick and indignant look towards the door, and bowing her head, demanded, "What is your pleasure, Sir?--This visit was neither expected nor desired." "I know it was not, Rose," he replied, assuming a mild and tender tone, in which his voice sounded somewhat like that of De Montigni, awakening memories in Rose's bosom, not the most favourable to himself; "but I have just heard something that would not suffer me to remain indifferent.--Shut the door, Blanchette," he added, turning to the girl and speaking in a sterner manner. "I learn from my mother with shame and anger, Mademoiselle d'Albret," he proceeded sadly, "that they are keeping you here as a sort of prisoner; and I will not suffer such a thing for a moment; for, though it is not my doing, it is on my account. Ill judging friends have done me harm enough with you already. They shall do so no more. I will now act upon my account, and try what the generosity and kindness which I would always have striven to display, if I had been permitted, will do with a heart which I am sure is not to be ruled by harshness." Rose was surprised, but still not deceived; for she contrasted instantly the new tone assumed towards her, with all that had gone before. She recollected, too, Helen de la Tremblade, and what she had heard from her; and the natural conclusion was, that this was fraud. "I thank you, Sir," she said, "and I trust your actions will make good your words. But what am I to conclude from that which you say regarding my captivity here; for I am, indeed, no better than a captive?"