“M. de Richelieu”--she spoke without heat or bitterness--“is now the servant of Madame de la Poplinière, and M. Amelot, who was my friend, has fallen. The Marquise de Pompadour has changed the face of the Court; every post is now filled by her creatures. Besides, I was very stupid in Austria--I was found out.” Her horse shook his head and the bridle silver twinkled in the stillness. Luc asked her what she had once asked him-- “What are you going to do with your life?” “I have made my choice.” Her answer was ready. “M. de Richelieu is generous--he gives one--alternatives. I have an estate in Poland, my husband’s estate. I could go there, with a pension--I could die--like Madame de Chateauroux--I could go into a convent. I have decided on the last.” “Why?” asked Luc, leaning a little forward on his saddle. “Because I am tired.” Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes were still clear and steady. “You must not think that I am more holy than I ever was. I have simply done what I meant to--come to the usual end--and I am tired.” “Will your religion console you for the loss of the world?” smiled Luc. “Yes,” she answered swiftly. “Do you remember me in the chapel of St. Wenceslas? I _believe_.” “Are you putting this resolve in practice--at once?” She answered in her old precise tones. “I am journeying to a convent near Avignon which is under a certain obligation to me. I was generous to them and they will be generous to me.” “Alone?” asked Luc gently. “You are travelling alone?” She smiled. “I had my page. He left me yesterday with most of my jewels. Yes, I am alone. As you may remember, Monsieur, I am not afraid--of such things as travelling alone.” He did remember her in Bohemia, and a glow came into his heart. “I think you have a fine courage, Madame.” “Yes?” she assented indifferently. “There are so many kinds of courage, are there not? I,” she added, “have been cowardly enough in some things.” Luc sat silent, looking down at the dark mane of his patient horse. “You are to have your chance in the spring,” continued Carola. “I am glad--and about Mademoiselle de Séguy. In great sincerity I congratulate you. I believe and hope this lady will not disappoint you.” “I believe so also, Madame,” said Luc proudly. Carola sighed. “I am leaving Aix to-night,” she said. “Good-bye, Monsieur le Marquis.” Luc took off his hat. “Good-bye, Madame. I shall still think of our journey to Eger as an--inspiration.” “Thank you,” answered Carola. She touched up her horse; and so it seemed that they were about to part for ever, he journeying towards the dark gates of the town and his brilliant future, she towards her convent and her obscure end. So they would have parted had not a sudden sound checked them, made them pause, drawn them once more together. It was the imploring, weak wail of a child rising out of the empty dusk. They both listened, and it was repeated. “O God!” cried Carola, with sudden passion. “I have heard that cry in dreams!”