"What you ask of me, madame, I cannot perform, and I say so with regret. ’Tis three miles from this to the enemy’s position. I cannot escort you myself, being on a particular duty, and I have not the means of sending you thither; yet, believe me, for the sake of poor D’Estouville’s first love I would do much." This was said in a tone of feeling, slightly mingled with reproach, and the colour of the lady came and went while she gazed on Ronald with a look of considerable surprise. "Monsieur," said she, after a pause, "did you know Major d’Estouville?" "Intimately, although a Frenchman and an enemy. I beheld him die." "At Merida?" Her lip quivered. "Yes, madame." "Poor Victor!" said the baroness thoughtfully. "The last words he uttered were your name,—Diane de Montmichel. He expired in great agony, on a bed of straw, stretched on the cold pavement of an ancient chapel." "_Merci_! Ah, monsieur! do not, do not tell me any more of this!" said she, covering her face with her hands,—which, I may observe, were very small and beautifully formed,—and beginning to weep and sob. "I dare not think of Victor now,—now when the wedded wife of another! To do so would be a sin, even although he is dead." "D’Estouville told me his story. He loved you very truly, madame." "I know that. You will certainly think me very cruel in deserting him, but Heaven knows I did not do so wilfully; I was not entirely to blame. At Lillebonne we understood that he had been killed; and long I wept and sorrowed for him, and protested that, until death, I would remain unwedded for his sake. Monsieur le Baron made proposals for my hand, and it was given him by my parent even before my consent was obtained. Terror, sorrow, and domestic persecution did the rest, and I became the bride of the new suitor, who indeed loves me very dearly, and I have every reason to be grateful to him. A coronet is a gay and attractive thing; yet think not, monsieur, that I have forgotten poor Victor, though I struggle with my heart to teach it the duty it owes the baron. One cannot have two loves for one heart," she added, sobbing and blushing. "Well, madame," said Stuart, anxious to end her embarrassment, "some arrangement must be made. First, let us leave this place." "_Eh bien!_" said the lady joyfully; and beginning to bustle about, she put her dilapidated dress in some order. "But," added she, shrugging her shoulders, "for where, monsieur?" "With your permission, madame, to my picquet at the foot of the hill, in the first place," replied Stuart, consulting his watch. "I have been absent nearly an hour. Hah! there will be the devil to pay should I be missed."