Therefore Laure went to her cell that night with her soul unshriven, and a heavy weight upon it of mingled joy and pain. Lying fully dressed upon her bed, she heard the great bell boom out the close of another day of praise to God. And when the last vibration had died down the wind, and the sexton had wended her pious way to bed, Laure rose, and prepared herself to go out into the garden. All that she had to do was to wrap herself in her mantle and to cover her head with a hood and veil. But first, following an instinct of dormant conscience, she unwound the rosary from her waist and hung it on the rail of the priedieu, before which she had not prayed to-night. Then she sat down upon her bed and waited,—waited through centuries, through ages, till it seemed to her that dawn must be about to break. But she felt that should she reach the garden before the coming of Flammecœur, her heart would fail indeed. During this time she refused to allow herself to think, though she was very cold and continued to tremble. Finally, when her nerves would stay her no longer, she rose and left her cell. The convent was open before her. The nuns were all asleep. Her sandalled feet made no noise upon the stones, and she passed in safety through corridors and rooms till she reached the library, from which there was an open exit to the garden. In the doorway she paused and looked out upon the pale moonlit scene. Her heart was beating quite steadily now, and she was able to consider almost with calmness the possibility that she was early. The light from the half-moon fell upon her where she stood, and suddenly she beheld a dark-cloaked figure run out of the shrubbery by the northwestern wall and come hurrying toward her. At the same moment she herself started forward, half fearfully. A moment later she was caught in Flammecœur’s arms, and a rain of kisses beat down upon her face. Gasping, crimson, horrified, she tore herself away from the embrace with the strength of one outraged. “Stop! In God’s name, stop! Wouldst do me dishonor?” she cried out, in an anger that bordered upon tears. “Dishonor! Mon Dieu! wherefore, prithee, camest thou into this garden, then? Was it to stand here in this doorway and permit me to scream my devotion at thee from yonder wall?” In her nervousness Laure suddenly laughed. But she was forced back to gravity, as he went on with a sudden rush of passion,—