Flammecœur looked at her with a peculiar pleasure, a pleasure that he had not often experienced. His immediate impulse was to put a still greater distance between them and Eloise; but prudence came happily to his aid. “Let us stop here till thine attendant comes, while thy horse breathes,” he said, bringing his animal to a gentle halt. Laure acquiesced at once, and did not analyze her little momentary qualm as one of disappointment. Nevertheless, her face grew white again, and she said not a word through the ten minutes they had to wait till Eloise came riding heavily out of the wood. The other nun looked infinitely startled at the sight of Flammecœur, and was muttering a prayer while she stared from Laure to the trouvère. As soon, however, as she came, the others reined their horses about, and immediately, in the most remarkable silence that the Provençal had ever experienced, proceeded up the hill and into the Castle courtyard. In this wise they reached the Chateau, and Laure came to her own again. She found herself surrounded by every one and everything that she had so unspeakably yearned for; and—they made little impression on her. She walked among them like one in a dream, striving in vain to free her mind from its encompassing mists. When she was alone with her mother, in Eleanore’s familiar and beloved room, Laure felt in herself an inexplicable insincerity. She clung to madame, and wept, and kissed her, and expressed in eager, disjointed phrases the great joy she felt in being at home again; and all the while she scarce knew what she said, or wherefore she said it. And in the end she gave such an impression of hysteria that her mother became seriously distressed. At dinner Laure’s manner changed. She was quiet and silent, and kept her eyes fixed continually on her plate. Her cheeks were burning and she was in a tumult of inward emotion that displayed itself in the most unwonted stupidity. Her mother never dreamed the reason for her mood. Curiously enough, Alixe read Laure better, though she scarcely dared admit to herself that which she saw. No look of Flammecœur’s, nor quick flush of the young nun’s face escaped her eyes, yet neither then nor ever after did Alixe confess to any one what she read; for her own heart was too much wrought upon for speech.