“Is it so? Is it, indeed, so?” he said mournfully. And it really appeared that grief at detecting such a dereliction on the part of his king, had a greater share in the feelings of the noble youth than indignation or resentment. “Is it indeed so?” he said; “and could neither my father’s long and glorious services, nor my poor conduct, avail aught to turn him from such infamy? But tell me,” he continued, the blood now mounting fiery red to his pale face, “tell me this, uncle, is she true to me? is she pure and good? Forgive, me, Heaven, that I doubt her; but in such a mass of infamy where may a man look for faith or virtue? Is Melanie true to me, or is she, too, consenting to this scheme of infamous and loathsome guilt?” “She was true, my son, when I last saw her,” replied the good clergyman; “and you may well believe that I spared no argument to urge her to hold fast to her loyalty and faith, and she vowed then, by all that was most dear and holy, that nothing should induce her ever to become the wife of Rochederrien. But they carried her off into the province, and have immured her, I have heard men say, almost in a dungeon, in her father’s castle, for now above a twelvemonth. What has fallen out no one as yet knows certainly; but it is whispered now that she has yielded, and the court scandal goes that she has either wedded him already, or is to do so now within a few days. It is said that they are looked for ere the month is out in Paris.” “Then I will to horse, uncle,” replied Raoul, “before this night is two hours older for St. Renan.” “Great Heaven! to what end, Raoul? For the sake of all that is good--by your father’s memory--I implore you, do nothing rashly!” “To know of my own knowledge if she be true or false, uncle.” “And what matters it, Raoul? My boy, my unhappy boy! False or true, she is lost to you alike, for ever! You have that against which to contend, which no human energy can conquer.” “I know not the thing which human energy can not conquer, uncle! It is years now ago that my good father taught me this--that there is no such word as _cannot_! I have proved it before now, uncle-abbé: I may, should I find it worth the while, prove it again, and that shortly. If so, let the guilty and the traitors look to themselves--they were best, for they shall need it!” Such was the state of St. Renan’s affections and his hopes when he left the gay capital of France, within a few hours after his arrival, and hurried down at the utmost speed of man and horse into Bretagne, whither he made his way so rapidly, that the first intimation his people received of his return from the East was his presence at the gates of the castle.