He left his room, which was separated from the tower where Blanche was lodged by a long gallery adorned with portraits of the marquis' ancestors. Villebelle walked slowly, pausing often to listen, and trembling for fear he should meet someone; he kept his eyes down, and seemed afraid to look at the portraits of his ancestors, who, for the most part, had honored their country by their bravery and virtue. At this moment something told him he was about to commit an act which was unworthy of the name which they had transmitted to him, and when his eyes met by chance one of those noble faces with which the gallery was hung, he seemed to read in it an expression of indignation and scorn. At last he reached the end of the gallery, and never had it seemed to him so long; he mounted a grand staircase, crossed several rooms, and entered the tower which held the young girl. A violent trembling seized him. Wishing to master his uneasiness, he hastened his walk. All the doors of communication were open, and he soon found Blanche's room. He paused, and looked at the keys which he held in his hand; he still hesitated, but, seeking to deaden himself to the crime which he was about to commit, he tried several keys, and was soon in Blanche's room. The deepest silence reigned in this place; the marquis stepped very softly, taking each step with precaution. The door of the bedroom was not closed. Villebelle looked in, and by the light of the lamp placed on the hearth, perceived the young girl asleep. "She sleeps," said the marquis; "she thinks herself safe in this shelter, but her breathing is oppressed; she seems as though she were going to speak; if I could but hear her." He approached the bed. Blanche was dreaming of her lover; softly she breathed Urbain's name, and extended her arms as if imploring someone; then she murmured,-- "O dear God! they still keep us apart." Villebelle felt moved and softened. "No, she does not love me," said he softly; "in her sleep she is always thinking of Urbain." He sighed profoundly, and was about to depart, when Blanche awakened, opened her eyes, and called out in terror,-- "O heavens! who is there?" "It is I, Blanche," answered the marquis in a halting voice. "You seigneur? so late in my room? What do you want with me?" "Be calm, I beg of you." "But you are trembling yourself, seigneur, what has happened?" "Nothing, nothing; I wished to see you--to speak to you, to look at you once more." "Ah, don't look at me so, monsieur le marquis, you frighten me." "Frighten you? Ah, Blanche, is that the feeling with which the most faithful lover should inspire you? Yes, my love is at its height; I can no longer master it; you must make me happy; you must be mine."