“I will not bear it,” she cried, “they shall be made to suffer for such wickedness. I will go to True and tell him everything, even at the risk of being spurned by him. Their treachery shall all be revealed, and then if he persists in marrying her he will do it with his eyes open. Oh, if I could but get word to Harriet, to let her know where I am, she would get me out, or she could tell the mother at the convent, and she would have me released.” She grew calmer after a while, for she was hopeful, and believed that she would find some means of communication with Harriet, and, feeling really hungry, she finally sat down and ate heartily of the breakfast that had been brought to her. She had scarcely finished when the sound of the key turning in the lock warned her that she was about to have another visitor. She sincerely hoped that it would prove to be Monsieur Arnot, and she was not disappointed, for as the door swung back she saw his genial and benignant face beaming upon her. “Ah, Sister Angela, good-morning. How do you find yourself after your long drive last evening? Pretty comfortable, I hope, although I was afraid you were hardly strong enough for such a ride,” he glibly remarked. “I am well, thank you, monsieur,” Salome answered with grave dignity; “but I wish to know why I am detained here against my will?” “Ah, Sister Angela, do not ask me disagreeable questions,” the man pleasantly responded; “but pray accept circumstances as you find them, and make yourself as comfortable as possible.” “But I shall question you,” Salome resolutely returned. “I wish you to explain why I am made a prisoner here, and by whose authority.” “Well, then, you are a patient in this institution, because you are somewhat out of health and need judicious treatment, and by the authority of madam, your mother,” Dr. Arnot replied, seeing that he might as well explain the situation first as last. “What is my malady supposed to be?” Salome demanded. She was greeted by the national shrug and a significant lifting of the eyebrows. “Mademoiselle has recently been ill,” he asserted inquiringly. “Yes; but I am well now, only I am not quite strong.” “Ah! exactly; and madam, your mother, has the desire that you shall gain your strength.” “By madam I suppose you refer to Mrs. Rochester, the woman who came here yesterday to consult with you about me?” “_Oui_, mademoiselle.” Salome smiled. She had at least confirmed her suspicions regarding Mrs. Rochester’s visit to Paris. “Well, then, the woman is not my mother—I have none; both my parents are dead; she is not even a relative—my mother was a cousin of her husband,” Salome stated with a directness that carried conviction with it. Again that characteristic shrug. It made but very little difference to Dr. Arnot whether Mrs. Rochester was the girl’s mother or not, provided she promptly paid him the large amounts agreed upon. “How long am I to be kept a prisoner here?” Salome next inquired.