"I was in despair at this change in my affairs; but a friend and brother student, Boisguiller, then a sub-lieutenant in the French Guards, enabled me to circumvent to some degree the precautions of my worthy relative, as he possessed an old and unoccupied house in the Rue St. Jacques, the windows of which overlooked the convent garden; and thereat I spent the hours that were not devoted to the study of fortification, regular, irregular, and defensive, of Coehorn, de Ville, and Vauban, in watching for Isabelle, and exchanging the most passionate little billets by the simple process of lowering them by a string from the windows, which, fortunately perhaps, were too high up and too strongly grated to permit nearer meetings. "For three years our love affair was conducted thus, and we were happy in the secrecy of our passion, which was all the deeper that (Boisguiller excepted) others knew it not, and could neither by jest or taunt bring the ready blush to our young cheeks; and so time passed, till Isabelle was sixteen and I was three years her senior, with an epaulette on my left shoulder. "I can painfully recall the last day on which I repaired to the accustomed place, with a trinket I had brought for Isabelle, and tying it to the cord, waited impatiently, with my eyes fixed on the flowery vista of the garden walk by which she usually approached; but hour after hour passed, and there came no Isabelle to me! "The next day and the next I met with no better success, and a terror filled my heart. Had we been betrayed or discovered? Isabelle was ill--dying, perhaps! I rushed to the convent gate, and sought an interview with my aunt. The old porteress had special orders to keep me out; but my excitement was too much for the good dame's nerves, and my impetuosity swept all her scruples away. Thus, she admitted me into the parlour and when my aunt came--a woman tall, thin, and stately in bearing, with a severe expression on her brow that boded evil fortune to me--I besought her to pardon me, and to say if Mademoiselle du Platel was ill! "'I am most happy to inform you, my dear Gervais, that she is not--but she has left this----' "'Left the convent,' I exclaimed; 'and for where?' "'Her father's house.' "'In the Rue de Tournon?' "'Near the palace of the Luxembourg--yes.' "'And she will return?' I continued, impetuously. "'No more,' said my aunt, with a sad smile. "'No more?' I repeated, with perplexity. "At least, not as Mademoiselle du Platel.' "'In heaven's name, madame--my dear aunt, I conjure you to tell me what you mean? See how I am trembling!' "'Compose yourself, my dear boy; when next we see her, she will be Madame d'Escombas.'