Through two long hours Alixe and the demoiselles and young esquires, a stricken, silent company, huddled together at the table in the long room, sat and waited the coming of Courtoise. There was nothing to be done in the Castle save to wait; and it seemed to them all that they would rather work like slaves than sit thus, inert and silent, and with naught to do but think of what had come upon Le Crépuscule. They knew that the body of Gerault was on its way home. A henchman had long since started off for St. Nazaire to acquaint the Bishop with the news and bring him back to the Castle. Also, Anselm and the captain of the keep had lifted the great stone in the floor of the chapel, that led into the vault below. This was all there was to be done now, until the last home-coming of their lord. At ten o’clock Courtoise appeared on the threshold of the long room, and his face bore a light as of transfiguration. As he went in and halted near the doorway, the little company rose reverently, and waited for him to speak. He turned to Alixe, but it was a moment or two before he could get his voice and control it to speak. “Alixe—Alixe—Madame Lenore hath asked for you—asks that you come to her.” Alixe rose at once, and the two went out together into the hall. There, however, Courtoise halted, saying, in a low, almost reverent tone: “She is in her chamber. I am to remain here below.” Alixe turned her white face and her bright green eyes upon him questioningly. “How doth she bear herself? Doth she yet weep?” she asked in a half-whisper. “She doth not weep. Ah, God! the Seigneur married an angel out of heaven, Alixe, and never knew it; and now can never know!” “He was our lord, Courtoise. Reproach not the dead.” Courtoise bent his head without speaking, and Alixe went on, up to Lenore’s chamber, the door of which stood half open. Alixe went softly in, and found Lenore sitting alone by the window, where madame had just left her. Silently the widowed girl put out both hands to Alixe, and, as Alixe went over to her, the tears began to run from her eyes. It was this sight of tears that first broke through Lenore’s wonderful self-control. Springing to her feet, with a choking, hysterical cry she flung both arms around Alixe’s neck, and wailed out, in that breathless monotone that children sometimes use: “Alixe! Alixe! Why is it that I cannot die? O Alixe! Alixe! Pray God to let me die!” * * * * *