“Oh, mademoiselle, what a beautiful flower! Is it a present from the Chevalier de Berrol?” At the mention of her betrothed’s name, Reine turned pale and red by turns; then, without replying to Stephanette, she took up the vase with a sort of fear, and showed her a beautifully enamelled figure which she had discovered there, and the representation of a white dove with a rose-coloured beak, and extended wings, holding in its purplish bronze feet a branch of olive. “Our Lady!” screamed Stephanette in fright. “It is the very picture of the enamelled pin that young miscreant robbed you of in the rocks of Ollioules, after he had saved monseigneur’s life.” “But who brought this vase and flower here?” asked Reine. “You do not know, mademoiselle?” Reine turned pale and made a sign in the affirmative. “Holy Virgin, this must be sorcery!” cried Stephanette, setting the vase back on the table as if it had burned her hand. Reine could scarcely control her emotion, but said to her: “A little while ago, when I went out to see my father mount his horse, I promenaded until nightfall in the great walk by the drawbridge, and when I returned I found this flower on this table. My first thought, like yours, was that Chevalier de Berrol had sent it or brought it, although such a flower in this season would be a miracle; I asked if the chevalier had arrived at Maison-Forte, and was told he had not; besides, I had the key of this apartment with me.” “Then, mademoiselle, it must be magic.” “I do not know what to think. In examining the vase more attentively, I see the enamelled likeness of the pin that--” Reine could not say more. Her face and form betrayed the violent emotion which the memory of that strange day caused her, the day when the foreigner had dared approach his lips to hers. “We must consult the chaplain or the watchman, mademoiselle,” exclaimed Stephanette. “No, no, be silent. Do not noise abroad this mystery which frightens me in spite of myself. Let us examine this apartment well; perhaps we may discover something.” “But this flower, this vase, mademoiselle!” As a reply, Reine threw the flower in the coal-pan. It almost seemed that the poor flower turned itself in pain upon the burning coals; the light hissing produced by the water which oozed out from the stem, seemed like plaintive cries. Soon it was in ashes. Then Reine opened the window which looked upon the esplanade, and threw out the crystal flagon. It broke with a noise upon the parapet, and its fragments fell into the sea. At this moment sounded heavy steps, and click of spurs upon the flagstones of the staircase. The hoarse voice of Raimond V. called joyously to his daughter to come and see--that demon of a Mistraon! “Not a word of this to my father,” said Reine to Stephanette, putting her finger on her lips. And she descended to meet the good old gentleman. CHAPTER VII. THE SUPPER.