"Say you so? then I invite him with all my heart," she said, with a bitter pleasantry; "he can't be a great deal worse than the society I have sometimes had to share; and, if he discloses the futurity that awaits me, he will have been the most instructive companion that fortune ever lent me." "Chut! madame, listen." "What is the matter, Marguerite?" "Did not you hear?" "What?--whom?" "There--there again; blessed Virgin shield us!" "Psha! Marguerite; it is nothing but the moths flying against the window-panes; I have heard that little tapping a hundred times." "Well, well, maybe so; but say your prayers, my dear, and ask forgiveness for your foolish words." "No, Marguerite; for in truth I do wish my fortune were read to me, and care not by whom." "Hey, what's that? Chut! in Heaven's name hold thy mad tongue," she cried, in the irritation of panic; "surely _that_ is no moth. May the saints guard your bed, my child. You heard it, did you not?" "Hum--yes--there was a sound." "I should think so, par bleu! something a size or two larger than a moth, too." "It was a spray of one of the plants swung by the breeze against the window." "Ma foi! it was no such thing, my sweet pet; no, no, something with a pair of wings fluttered up against it." Had the old woman, in her trepidation, had leisure to study the countenance of her young mistress, she would have perceived that her cheeks were flushed with crimson. But she was too busy with her medley of prayers and protestations, and too fully preoccupied with the idea of an unearthly visitation. "Well, well, Marguerite, be it as you say; I'll not dispute the point; but leave me now; I'm tired, and would sleep. Good night." After the old woman had withdrawn some minutes, Lucille rose from her bed. She had only been partially undressed; and throwing on her dressing-gown, and putting her little ivory feet into her slippers, she glided to her chamber-door, which she secured, and then cautiously, and almost fearfully, stepped to the window, which she pushed open, and stood upon the balcony. With a beating heart, and a cheek that momentarily changed color, she looked all along the edges of the court, and over the tall plants, and under the shadow of the lofty jessamine-covered wall. She listened with breathless and excited suspense--she waited for some minutes; but, having watched and listened in vain, she pressed her hand on her heart, and, with a deep and trembling sigh, turned back again. It was at this moment she saw something white, no bigger than a playing-card, lie at her feet. She picked it up, entered her room, and trembling violently, closed the window again, and was alone. VIII.--THE ORDEAL. The next morning came with sunshine, and the merry carols of all the sylvan choirs. It would have meetly ushered in a day of rejoicing; but joy seemed to have bid an eternal adieu to the luxurious solitudes of the Chateau des Anges.