Laure was happy now. She found herself not much encumbered with her dress, which had been “modified” in obedience to the law for conduct outside the convent. Her gown and mantle were of the usual cut, and she was girdled by her rosary; but her head was covered with a close-fitting black hood from which fell a short white veil, two edges of which were pinned beneath her chin, giving her, though she did not know it, a delightfully softened expression. After she had left Eloise behind, she continued to increase the speed of her animal till she had all but lost control of him. Fifteen minutes later she was out of the forest and running along a heavily packed road, bordered on either side with a thin line of trees, beyond which stretched broad fields and moorlands, among which, somewhere, the priory estate ended and that of Le Crépuscule began. Eloise was now a mile behind; but Laure had no thought for her. Her breath was coming short no less with emotion than with the exercise; for the image of her mother was before her eyes. She let her mind search where it would, through sweet and yearning depths; and her heart was filled with thanksgiving for this hour of freedom. She was nearing that place where the Rennes highway joined that of St. Nazaire, both of them uniting at the Castle road, which led to the Chateau by a long and winding ascent. Presently the Chateau became visible; and Laure, looking on it with all her soul in her eyes, took no heed of the slow-moving horseman ahead of her, on whom she was rapidly gaining. Indeed, neither was aware of the presence of the other, till Laure’s horse, scenting company, made a short dash of a hundred yards, and then came into a sudden walk beside the animal bestrode by Bertrand Flammecœur of Provence. The suddenness of the horse’s stop caused Laure to jerk heavily forward. Flammecœur leaned over and caught her bridle. At that moment their eyes met. A flush of vivid pink overspread Laure’s lily face. She shrank quickly away from the look in Flammecœur’s eyes. Then her hand went up to her dishevelled hair; and she tried confusedly to straighten it back. “Take not such pains, reverend lady. By the glory of the saints, thou couldst not make thyself as lovely as God’s world hath made thee!—Prithee, heed me not!” Laure gave a little gasp at the man’s daring; yet such was Flammecœur’s manner that she did not find herself offended. Presently she had the impulse to give him a sideways glance; and then, all untutored as she was, she read the lively admiration that was written in his face. After that her hands came down from her head, and she took up her bridle again, by the act causing him to relinquish it. “The Sœur Eloise is behind me. I fear that I did much outdistance her,” she said, with a demureness through which a smile was very near to breaking.