Sharply the doors were flung to again, locked, and the key returned to Louise's pocket. "Parbleu, mademoiselle," was her exclamation, turning to a chest of drawers, "as if your handkerchiefs were kept in the wardrobe!" Adeline knew they were not as well as Louise, but just then she had not her wits about her. She was growing desperate. "One would think we had a thief in the house, by the way you keep places locked," she exclaimed. "Leave the wardrobe open, Louise." "Indeed, and we have something as bad as a thief," answered Louise, grumblingly. "If Susanne wants anything for madame, and thinks she can find it here, she makes no scruple of coming and turning about mademoiselle's things. Only three days ago it took me an hour to put them straight after her." "Well, leave the wardrobe open for tonight," said Adeline: "you can lock it again tomorrow, if you will" And Mademoiselle Louise swung the doors back again, and quitted the room. Adeline proceeded to dress herself. She put on a dark silk dress, a light thin cashmere shawl, and a straw bonnet trimmed with white ribbons. She also threw over her shoulders a costly silk travelling cloak, lined and trimmed with ermine. It had been a present to her from Madame de Beaufoy against her journey to the South. She was soon ready, but it was scarcely time to depart. She was pale as death; so pale that the reflection of her own face in the glass startled her. Her head swam round, her limbs trembled, and she felt sick at heart. She began to doubt if she should have strength to go. She sat down and waited. The minutes passed rapidly: it would soon be time, if she went at all. She felt in her pocket: all was there. Her purse, containing a few Napoleons; her handkerchief; a small phial of Cologne water; and a little case containing _his_ gifts and letters. She arose and placed her hands upon the lock of the door; but, too ill and agitated to proceed, turned round, drank a glass of water, and sat down again. The longer she stopped, the worse she grew; and, making a desperate effort, she extinguished the light, opened the door, and glided to the top of the stairs. All seemed quiet. She could hear the murmur of the servants' voices in their distant apartments, nothing else, and she stole noiselessly down the staircase, and across the lighted hall. As she was opening the front door, some one came out of the western drawing-room, and Adeline, with a quick, nervous effort, passed through, before whoever it was should be in sight, pulling the door gently after her. Oh, misery! oh, horror! Planted at the foot of the steps, right in front of her, as if he had stopped on the spot and fallen into a reverie, was the priest, Father Marc. He glided up the steps, and seized her arm; and Adeline cried out, with a shrill, startled cry.