Now madame came up, and indicated a chair to the Bishop, who, after seeing her seated, sat down himself, while Laure remained on her feet in front of them. Then followed a pause, uncomfortable to all, terrifying to Laure, who was becoming hysterically nervous with dread. She dared not, however, break the silence; and with a convulsive sigh she folded her arms across her breast, and stood waiting for whatever was to come. Monseigneur regarded her closely and steadily, as if he were reading something that he wished to know of her, but at the same time he did not make her shrink from him. On the contrary, his expression brought the assurance that he had lost nothing of his old-time sympathy with human nature. His first question was unhesitatingly direct. “Laure,” he said very quietly, “art thou bound by the marriage tie to this Bertrand Flammecœur?” At the sound of the name Laure trembled, and her white face grew whiter still. “No,” she answered in a half-whisper, at the same time clenching her two hands till the nails pierced her flesh. “And thou hast lived with him, under his name, since thy departure from the priory of the Holy Madeleine?” Laure paused for a moment to steady her voice, and then answered huskily: “Until two months past.” “And in that two months?” “I have begged my way from where we were—hither.” “Thou hast in this time known none but the man Flammecœur?” Laure crimsoned and put up her hand in protest. Then she said quietly, “None.” Monseigneur bowed his head and remained silent for a moment. When he looked at her again it was with a gentler expression. “Laure,” said he, in a very kindly voice, “but a little time after thy flight from the priory, I placed upon thee, and upon the man that abducted thee, the ban of excommunication, for violating the holiest laws of the Holy Church. That ban is not yet raised, and by it, as well thou knowest, all that come in voluntary contact with thee are defiled.” For a moment Laure dropped her head to her breast. When she lifted it again, her face had not changed; and she asked, “Can that ban ever be lifted?” “Yes. By me.” Laure fell upon her knees before him. “What must I do? Tell me the penance! I would give anything—even to my life—yet—nay! There is one thing I will not do.” St. Nazaire frowned. “What is that?” he asked. “Father, I will not go back into the priory. I will never return alive into that living death. Rather would I cast myself from the top of the Castle cliff into the sea below, and trust—” “Laure! Laure! Be silent!” cried Eleanore, sharply. Laure stopped and stood motionless, her eyes aflame, her face deathly white, her fingers twining and intertwining among themselves, as she waited for St. Nazaire to speak again. His hands were folded upon his knee, and he appeared lost in thought. Only after an unendurable suspense did he look again into the girl’s eyes, saying slowly, in a tone lower than was habitual to him,—