gardless of the cold winds which swept the public place, or Parvis, as it was called, in front of Notre Dame, knelt down, and was long absorbed in pious meditation. He at length arose, chilled, benumbed, but refreshed in spirit; humiliated, but not despairing.

On reaching his own chamber he dropped asleep, no more disturbed by the mysterious dial, or the haunting thoughts, and reposed as calmly and fearlessly as he had laid himself to rest.

Ir was the waking care of St. Maur to devise such a plan of action as would permit full liberty and scope for his intended pilgrimage, without endangering his reputation with Condé and the Fronde. He did not like, in the critical state of the faction, to incur the obloquy of desertion; he might depart for the south, he thought, through the instrumentality of de Retz, whose own weakness would the more readily allow his sympathies to extend to the grief of his Secretary. Under cover of a mission to Beaufort, or to provincial Frondeurs, he might quit Paris with honour.

But how was Isoline to be discovered? He knew not the name of the convent, or the title and quality of the abbess her kinswoman; had never heard her mention such a relative; and to seek information at St. Cloud, either of Bartholin, or by an appeal to a higher quarter, was throwing himself into the lion's jaws. Of the tender mercies of Anne of Austria, and of the crouching cat-like Mazarin, particularly since the defeat of de Nogent, he had good reason to feel dread; and to be mewed up in Vincennes, Ham, or Havre, with Isoline's fate unhinging his mind, was too dreadful to contemplate. St. Cloud, therefore, must not be thought of, and Avignon ought not to be attempted without further information.

In this dilemma, he bethought himself of the Abbess of the Valde-Grace. She was the friend, the confidant of the Queen; but she was of a Dauphinese family, with whom that of St. Maur had intermarried a century and a half ago. The Abbess, was, moreover, the friend of Isoline, who was very much in favour with this in

fluential superior. The Coadjutor had taken especial care that the clergy and the convents should not suffer during the troubles; and as it was not his object to provoke the Queen and Court à l'outrance, he had bestowed more than usual attention in providing for the temporal wants of the habitants of this royal foundation, believing that at a future day his consideration would be appreciated. St. Maur, therefore, had every reason to believe, that as Secretary to the Coadjutor of Paris, his reception would be gracious; and were it, on his introduction, to threaten otherwise, he had plenty of resources to propitiate and bribe the good will and attention of the lady-superior; half-a-dozen oxen, and as many sheep, he very justly thought, in these famishing times, would buy all he wanted. She would, at least, know the name of the convent at Avignon to which Isoline had retired; possibly bad been in correspondence with her; but this was too much to hope for, or expect.

He felt great trepidation in knocking at the well-known gates in the Rue du Faubourg St. Jacques; it brought vividly to memory the eventful night in which he had been escort to disguised royalty, and the laughing voice and piquant raillery of du Plessis rang in his ears.

A decrepid lay-sister of the foundation answered his appeal for admission, received his message to the superior, and returned to conduct him to the conventual parlour. The lady-abbess was a wellbred dame, of about fifty; severe in manners and appearance, but with an ease of speech and action becoming one accustomed to confidential intercourse with royalty. She was seated reading, when St. Maur entered the parlour, but arose at his approach.

Tremblingly alive to the nature of his reception, he could not but perceive that his visit was embarrassing. The Abbess perhaps dreaded the anger of the Queen, for affording countenance to a traitor like himself. Anxious to make a favourable impression, he alluded, on taking the seat pointed out for him, to the care which Monseigneur had charged himself with, of providing for the daily necessities of the Val-de-Grace during the season of inefficient supplies. He added, that grateful for the hospitalities which she proffered when he occasionally waited on her Majesty to the Val-deGrace, and not forgetful of the slight tie of blood and relationship— distant though it was--he had of his own accord, having the control over all the provisions stored for the use of the archiepiscopal palace, taken the precaution of that morning sending to the bailiff of the convent, certain beeves and sheep, which he hoped would minister ser

viceably to their wants. He had, in the last forage, added so much to the stock, that he could well afford to be profuse.

It seemed to the youth as though the Abbess was much disap pointed with the purport of his speech. The slight confusion observable on his entrance had disappeared; the evanescent brightening up of her prim, starched visage, had faded into blank vacuity. Still he must not lose the real object of his interview.

With such preamble and circumlocution, he at last approached the subject; the superior relaxed in her austerity, and by occasional friendly questionings, drew from the youth much of his distress of mind. Without saying how far it was in her power to satisfy his inquiries respecting Madame du Plessis, she began expressing doubts whether she were not encroaching on the discipline of the holy church in usurping the privileges of his confessor. And in uttering this, her former slightly confused and somewhat comic expression of countenance returned, and he could scarcely doubt that she was secretly laughing at his grief. He remarked, that he hoped, as she had usurped one part of his confessor's duties, she would not neglect the more important one of consolation. She smiled, but it was not a smile of derision.

He was now fairly puzzled at his reception. The mirth, he thought, unbecoming the sanctity of her profession; but then her constant intercourse with the Queen and other worldly personages, even with Isoline, who was the reverse of demure, had perhaps made the superior, half, courtier, half recluse.

"I see by your looks, Monsieur St. Maur," said the lady," that you deem me ungenerous in laughing at your grief; but do you deserve better treatment from one whose sympathies you have estimated at the value of let me see-six well-fed Orleannois oxen and as many sheep!"

Forgive my error," cried the Secretary, abashed.

"It is my duty to forgive all the world," cried the Abbess, interrupting him; "but the superior of the Val-de-Grace holds her goodwill at a higher price, Monsieur St. Maur. And yet I know that which is well worth your purchase."

But immediately changing to a more serious tone, she continued:

"And so you are truly penitent and contrite; would do penance at Avignon, and seek forgiveness, where I hope it will be given." "If Madame be serious, and not diverting herself at my expense," replied the youth, "I would do all that, and more.”

"More! In mercy I hope no sacrilege!" exclaimed the Abbess. "What wild scheme runs in your head? Do you aim at carrying off, like a Turk or Saracen of old, one of the holy sisterhood? Thank heavens! I have not yet afforded you the clue !"

"You do me injustice!" cried the youth, hurriedly; but he became all at once so struck with the impression that he was ban tered by the Abbess, that he paused, and remained silent.

Perceiving his embarrassment, and suspecting the cause, she said she would deal fairly with him; and that if he would return at the same hour on the morrow, she would have prepared a letter, addressed to the prioress to the convent at Avignon, which would doubtless pave the way to the accomplishment of his wishes; but that he must not, in the meantime, disclose the nature of their present interview to any one, or communicate his intended journey, till he had received the credentials.

St. Maur promised faithfully to obey the Abbess, but sought a boon which he hoped she would grant, namely, to declare whether it was true or not that a dispensation had been obtained by Madame du Plessis to obviate the necessity of the noviciate term. He had, he said, till now, put entire faith in the truth of the report, as it came from her late maître d'hôtel ; but his spirits were becoming so buoyant with hope, that he could not soberly contemplate such an irretrievable bereavement. The Abbess, however, refused further information, bidding him to obey her bequests, and return at the appointed hour; a command he was forced to obey.

The more St. Maur reflected on his interview with the superior, the more he felt inclined to believe the affairs were not so desperate as he had believed them. He even caught himself indulging in the hope that the noviciate had not expired; that Isoline had not taken the fatal vows; or, if she had, that there was some reservation, some escape from the dreary waste of a land of happiness. Else, wherefore the equivocating, bantering tone of the Abbess, which would be out of place, unless indeed she was the most hard-hearted of women?

He was forbid speaking of his journey, an injunction which was attended with inconvenience, for he could not, consistently with his promise, communicate his intentions to the Coadjutor, nor take leave of du Tremblay; the house of the President he dare not, indeed, approach. Jules, also, must remain in ignorance of the journey, and would have but short notice after the morning's interview. But how pass the racking hours in the interval?

He preferred burying himself in the solitude of his own chamber; but found it tenanted by the ever importunate Jules Martin. Jules had a secret of the utmost importance to communicate, but said he would only impart it on condition that if Monsieur would not embark in the adventure he proposed, it should be left to the valet's own management. This condition was so reasonable, that the Secretary at once agreed to it; hoping the sooner to get rid of the presence of the man.

Jules had a cousin, gardener at the château de Vincennes, the fortress in which the Prince of Condé was confined. In his circui tous route to St. Cloud, he had fallen in with his kinsman, and during their socialities in the environs of the château, had noticed that the fosse was nearly dry, and that no great injury would be likely to attend a fall from the windows from that quarter of the prison where the Prince was lodged, into the fosse beneath. The steep, sloping bank opposite had been, in several spots, planted with shrubs and plants of large growth, which would afford a ready means of ascending from the ditch. A sentinel, it was true, ever patrolled the terrace fronting Condé's banqueting room, the apartment where he dined in company with the officers of the garrison. They enjoyed this honour by turn, if honour it were; but the real object was to prevent the Prince from ever being alone, and making use of opportunities of escape, which the resources of a mind fertile in expedients would undoubtedly present.

As Jules very justly remarked, the difficulty lay in the Prince having the chance of dropping into the fosse, unperceived either by his attendants or the sentinel. But the difficulty was not insur mountable and if Monsieur would only pledge himself to join heartily in the adventure, without imparting it to others, or making one confidant of the scheme-for save Monsieur he would have no one share the glory of the exploit; he thought he saw the way clear to carry off the Prince in triumph.

St. Maur, who deemed the idea not impracticable—indeed, similar projects had often been discussed by the Frondeurs at the council board-lent a willing ear to the proposal, and agreed to the proviso of secresy conditionally; for as he told Jules, the adventure might require the aid of more hands; and under any circumstances, the Coadjutor ought to be possessed of the secret, that he might have a cavalry force prepared to cover the retreat of his Royal Highness, should the escape be discovered as soon as made. Jules felt the force of these remarks, and was willing to submit