Raoul remained for a moment almost stupefied, asking himself if they were trifling with him; he then turned round to interrogate Malicorne, but he had been hurried away by Montalais, and was already at some distance from them. Mademoiselle de la Vallière attempted to follow her friend, but Raoul, with gentle authority, detained her. “Louise, one word, I beg.” “But, M. Raoul,” said Louise, blushing, “we are alone. Every one has left. They will become anxious, and will be looking for us.” “Fear nothing,” said the young man, smiling, “we are neither of us of sufficient importance for our absence to be remarked.” “But I have my duty to perform, M. Raoul.” “Do not be alarmed, I am acquainted with these usages of the court; you will not be on duty until to-morrow; a few minutes are at your disposal, which will enable you to give me the information I am about to have the honor to ask you for.” “How serious you are, M. Raoul!” said Louise. “Because the circumstances are serious. Are you listening?” “I am listening; I would only repeat, monsieur, that we are quite alone.” “You are right,” said Raoul, and, offering her his hand, he led the young girl into the gallery adjoining the reception-room, the windows of which looked out upon the courtyard. Every one hurried towards the middle window, which had a balcony outside, from which all the details of the slow and formal preparations for departure could be seen. Raoul opened one of the side windows, and then, being alone with Louise, said to her: “You know, Louise, that from my childhood I have regarded you as my sister, as one who has been the confidante of all my troubles, to whom I have entrusted all my hopes.” “Yes, M. Raoul,” she answered softly; “yes, M. Raoul, I know that.” “You used, on your side, to show the same friendship towards me, and had the same confidence in me; why have you not, on this occasion, been my friend,--why have you shown suspicion of me?” Mademoiselle de la Vallière did not answer. “I fondly thought you loved me,” said Raoul, whose voice became more and more agitated; “I fondly thought you consented to all the plans we had, together, laid down for our own happiness, at the time when we wandered up and down the walks of Cour-Cheverny, under the avenue of poplar trees leading to Blois. You do not answer me, Louise. Is it possible,” he inquired, breathing with difficulty, “that you no longer love me?” “I did not say so,” replied Louise, softly.