d'Escorval, as soon as her son had left the room.

And, as her husband made no reply: "Perhaps," she added, hesitatingly, "perhaps it will not be prudent for us to leave him too entirely to the dictates of his despair." The baron shuddered.

He divined only too well the terrible apprehensions of his wife.
"We have nothing to fear," he replied, quickly; "I heard Marie-Anne promise to meet Maurice to-morrow in the grove on the Reche." The anxious mother breathed more freely.

Her blood had frozen with horror at the thought that her son might, perhaps, be contemplating suicide; but she was a mother, and her husband's assurances did not satisfy her.
She hastily ascended the stairs leading to her son's room, softly opened the door, and looked in.

He was so engrossed in his gloomy revery that he had heard nothing, and did not even suspect the presence of the anxious mother who was watching over him.
He was sitting at the window, his elbows resting upon the sill, his head supported by his hands, looking out into the night.
There was no moon, but the night was clear, and over beyond the light fog that indicated the course of the Oiselle one could discern the imposing mass of the Chateau de Sairmeuse, with its towers and fanciful turrets.
More than once he had sat thus silently gazing at this chateau, which sheltered what was dearest and most precious in all the world to him.
From his windows he could see those of the room occupied by Marie-Anne; and his heart always quickened its throbbing when he saw them illuminated.
"She is there," he thought, "in her virgin chamber.