From the windows of the house where the Duke of Montpensier had taken up his quarters, I saw a large division of the army march out of Jarnac, and certainly a very different scene, indeed, was the gay and glittering procession of the royal host from the bands of the poor Huguenots even in their freshest guise. Of the young Prince D'Auvergne I saw nothing during that day till supper-time, when, surrounded by his officers, he had only an opportunity of speaking to me a few words to prepare me for taking my departure from Jarnac an hour after sunrise on the following day. Though there were one or two persons of higher rank sat nearer the prince at supper than I did, and many with whom he was in old habits of intimacy, yet the little incident which had occurred during the retreat from Loudun, my condition as a prisoner, and the anxiety he had felt at different times on my account when my life was in danger, seemed to have established a deeper kind of interest between me and him than there existed between himself and any of his own party; and he always spoke to me with that tone of kindness, attention, and feeling which made any strangers who might happen to be at the table turn their eyes to see who it was that the prince addressed in such a manner. Somewhat before the time appointed on the following morning I descended from my chamber, prepared to set out. I found that the prince[4] had gone to the quarters of the Duke of Anjou, and the attendants, who were about to be sent from the army to Champigny, were waiting round the door with their horses and mine, ready to take their places as the troops passed along. Determined to follow their example, I waited by the side of my horse, while the attendants of the Duke of Montpensier and my own kept respectfully at a little distance, when I felt some one suddenly pull my mantle, and, turning round, I saw one of the most beautiful girls I had ever beheld, whose features were not unfamiliar to me. The handwriting of the letter that she slipped into my hand, however, was far better known, for it was that of Louise de Blancford; and, with a hand all eagerness, I was tearing it open, when the girl again plucked me by the cloak, and, gazing up in my face with her large, dark eyes, cried, "Hist! seigneur, hist! Will you befriend us!" She seemed about thirteen or fourteen years of age, not more; and, after gazing upon her for a moment, endeavouring to recollect where I had seen her, I said, "How can I befriend you, my good girl? What is your name?" "You recollect me not," replied the girl; "but my name is Miriam Ahar." "Oh, I recollect thee well," I replied, "now. Tell me what I can do for thee, pretty one, and I will do it with pleasure." And, as I spoke, there was a look of real pleasure, I believe, came over my countenance, which brought a smile upon the girl's beautiful lips.