servants might not take offence at the apparent
fancifulness of sending down for food I could
not eat. I was so anxious for all to be in bed,
that. I told the footman who served that he
need not wait to take away the plates and
dishes, but might go to bed. Long after I
thought the house was quiet, Amante, in her
caution, made me wait. It was past eleven
before we set out, with cat-like steps and veiled
light, along the passages, to go to my husband's
room and steal my own letter, if it was indeed
there; a fact about which Amante had
become very uncertain in the progress of our
discussion.

To make you understand my story, I must
now try to explain to you the plan of the
chateau. It had been at one time a fortified place
of some strength, perched on the summit of a
rock, which projected from the side of the
mountain. But additions had been made to
the old building (which must have borne a
strong resemblance to the castles overhanging
the Rhine), and these new buildings were placed
so as to command a magnificent view, being on
the steepest side of the rock, from which the
mountain fell away, as it were, leaving the great
plain of France in full survey. The ground-
plan was something of the shape of three sides
of an oblong; my apartments in the modern
edifice occupied the narrow end, and had this
grand prospect. The front of the castle was
old, and ran parallel to the road far below. In
this were contained the offices and public rooms
of various descriptions, into which I never
penetrated. The back wing (considering the new
building, in which my apartments were, as the
centre) consisted of many rooms, of a dark and
gloomy character, as the mountain-side shut out
much of the sun, and heavy pine woods came
down within a few yards of the windows. Yet
on this side on—a projecting plateau of the
rock—my husband had formed the flower-garden
of which I have spoken; for he was a great
cultivator of flowers in his leisure moments.

Now my bedroom was the corner room of the
new buildings on the part next to the mountain.
Hence I could have let myself down into the
flower-garden by my hands on the window-sill
on one side, without danger of hurting myself;
while the windows at right angles with these
looked sheer down a descent of a hundred feet
at least. Going still farther along this wing,
you came to the old building; in fact, these
two fragments of the ancient castle had
formerly been attached by some such connecting
apartments as my husband had rebuilt. These
rooms belonged to M. de la Tourelle. His
bedroom opened into mine, his dressing-room lay
beyond; and that was pretty nearly all I knew,
for the servants, as well as he himself, had a
knack of turning me back, under some pretence,
it ever they found me walking about alone, as I
was inclined to do, when first I came, from a
sort of curiosity, to see the whole of the place
of which I found myself mistress. M. de la
Tourelle never encouraged me to go out alone,
cither in a carriage or for a walk, saying always
that the roads were unsafe in those disturbed
times; indeed, I have sometimes fancied since
that the flower-garden, to which the only access
from the castle was through his rooms, was de-
signed in order to give me exercise and employment
under his own eye.

But to return to that night. I knew, as I
have said, that M. de la Tourelle's private room
opened out of his dressing-room, and this out
of his bedroom, which again opened into mine,
the corner-room. But there were other doors
into all these rooms, and these doors led into a
long gallery, lighted by windows, looking into the
inner court. I do not remember our consulting
much about it; we went through my room into
my husband's apartment through the dressing-
room, but the door of communication into his
study was locked, so there was nothing for it
but to turn back and go by the gallery to the
other door. I recollect noticing one or two
things in these rooms, then seen by me for
the first time. I remember the sweet perfume
that hung in the air, the scent bottles of silver
that decked his toilet-table, and the whole
apparatus for bathing and dressing, more luxurious
even than those which he had provided for me.
But the room itself was less splendid in its
proportions than mine. In truth, the new buildings
ended at the entrance to my husband's dressing-
room. There were deep window recesses in
walls eight or nine feet thick, and even the
partitions between the chambers were three feet
deep; but over all these doors or windows there
fell thick, heavy draperies, so that I should
think no one could have heard in one room what
passed in another. We went back into my
room, and out into the gallery. We had to
shade our candle, from a fear that possessed us,
I don't know why, lest some of the servants in.
the opposite wing might trace our progress to-
wards the part of the castle unused by any one
except my husband. Somehow, I had always
the feeling that all the domestics, except
Amante, were spies upon me, and that I was
trammelled in a web of observation and
unspoken limitation extending over all my actions.

There was a light in the upper room; we
paused, and Amante would have again retreated,
but I was chafing under the delays. What was
the harm of my seeking my father's unopened
letter to me in my husband's study? I, generally
the coward, now blamed Amante for her
unusual timidity. But the truth was, she had
far more reason for suspicion as to the proceedings
of that terrible household than I had ever
known of. I urged her on, I pressed on myself;
we came to the door, locked, but with the key
in it; we turned it, we entered; the letters lay
on the table, their white oblongs catching the
light in an instant, and revealing themselves to
my eager eyes, hungering after the words of
love from my peaceful distant home. But just
as I pressed forward to examine the letters, the
candle which Amante held, caught in some
draught, went out, and we were in darkness.
Amante proposed that we should carry the
letters back to my salon, collecting them as