To what? More than once she had heard M. de Crillon talk--and very unconcernedly too--of the living death of those who unhappily became the victims of a _lettre de cachet_. Yes, she remembered well how once, in order to gratify her importunate curiosity, he had told her of people sent to Pignerol, St. Michel, or Isle Marguerite, never to be heard of more. He had actually taken to himself some little share of credit for the dread inspired far and near by the terrible length of the merciless arm which could strike down an enemy at the court of some foreign potentate. Not long since, indeed, it had dared to seize at Frankfort a man too dangerous through his connection with the world of letters, and had consigned him to a living tomb, if even his life had been spared. She shuddered at the thought; but even the prospect of a fate so dismal could not long keep down the generous and heroic spirit of Clotilde de Valricour. "At least," she murmured, "I shall save poor Marguerite; nay, I perhaps maybe the means of enabling her to be happy with Isidore in spite of these cruel machinations." How long the journey lasted the unfortunate girl had no means of knowing; it seemed to her an age, though in reality it was but a few hours. She became at last nearly exhausted with the incessant jolting over rough roads, and plunging about in others that were little better than bogs. Excitement, however, and the continual apprehension of some unlooked-for catastrophe forbade all thoughts of sleep, and it was actually with a sensation of relief that she noticed that the huge carriage was rattling over a rough pavement, and heard the noise of great gates being swung to, and barred behind them. She looked out, and could just perceive that they had driven into a spacious court-yard, nearly surrounded by grey, sombre-looking buildings, at the great entrance door of which the vehicle drew up. [Illustration: Tailpiece to Chapter VI] [Illustration: Headpiece to Chapter VII] CHAPTER VII. Alighting hastily from the carriage, Clotilde ran up the great flight of steps which led to the door. As she entered, it was closed behind her, but to her surprise, and much to her relief, she found that the janitress was a nun. "Tell me, good sister, tell me for the love of Heaven, what place is this? Where have these men brought me to?" she exclaimed, trembling with excitement. Apparently somewhat astonished at the vehemence of the new-comer, the female answered only by making a sign to Clotilde to follow her; she then led the way across the hall to a spacious apartment, and there left her. Clotilde would have repeated her questions, but she was too late, and on trying the door she found it locked.