'Next week will see us on the march for France,' said he, 'and I may cross the purposes of your family and the path of Ernestine no more! You, Heinrich, who are so successful and so happy in your love, might surely pity us.' 'I do, Carl. A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.' 'Arrange for me,' continued Charlie, with great earnestness, 'that Ernestine and I may have one more interview. Our last farewell--our separation, was so cruelly abrupt.' 'A meeting! When and where?' 'When and where you choose. See her once again, I must at all hazards; and you alone can arrange this for me. Dear friend, don't deny us this last melancholy pleasure!' 'Where, then, think you?' 'Settle that with my darling; and may God bless you, Heinrich!' said Charlie, in a choking voice, as he patted his friend on the epaulette. 'I shall write you to-night, to-morrow at the latest; for we must not lose time while the Baron's gout lasts.' And Heinrich ordered his horse and departed, leaving Charlie Pierrepont in a more contented mood of mind than he had been in since he left the boudoir of the Countess. So he should _see_ her once again! CHAPTER IX. FOR LIFE AND DEATH. Eagerly did Charlie Pierrepont await the arrival of the Brieftrager, or letter-carrier, who brought him a brief note from Heinrich, saying that he meant to take his sister for a drive that evening, and that Charlie would find her in the little church at Burtscheid at the hour of seven. The note was signed, as usual, '_Ihr treuer Freund_, HEINRICH.' After all that had occurred, how delightful and encouraging it was to find her brother signing himself 'Your devoted friend,' as of old! 'The little church of Burtscheid?' said Charlie, after perusing the note for the third or fourth time; 'it is a strange place to choose.' But Ernestine was a strange girl, and, with regard to this farewell meeting, had that in view which Charlie could not foresee. Ten hours had to elapse before the appointed one came; and to Charlie, who passed the day almost watch in hand, the time seemed interminable. Evening came, however, at last; and the shadows of the church spires were falling eastward when Charlie set out for the trysting-place, which is a mile and a half from the gates of Aix, and connected therewith by a handsome avenue of trees. The village is now chiefly celebrated for its mineral waters; but 'the abbey of Burtscheid,' says Forster, a writer at the close of the last century, 'is beautifully situated, and finished with all ecclesiastical splendour. Close by, a small wood runs towards a large reservoir, and as you advance you come to a narrow valley enclosed by woody hills, where several warm springs are soon discovered by the vapour that rises from them, and the large reservoir is quite filled with hot water. As you walk along a series of beautifully shaded reservoirs you see the romantic ruins of the old castle of Frankenburg.'