CHAPTER VIII.
"I AM A DISGRACED WOMAN." ROZEL, _October 10_.
Here I am back in my cell, my friend.

Why did I ever leave it?
Never has a man felt a more troubled heart beat between these cold walls, than my own wretched heart! Ah! I will not curse our poor human reason, our philosophy; are they not, after all, the noblest and best conquests of our nature?
But, great Heaven! how little they amount to! What unreliable guides, and what feeble supports! Listen to a sad story: Yesterday, thanks to Madame de Malouet, I remained alone at the chateau the whole day and the whole evening.

I was therefore as much at peace as it was possible for me to be.

Toward midnight I heard the carriages returning, and soon after all noise ceased.

It was, I think, about three o'clock in the morning when I was aroused from the species of torpor that has stood me in lieu of sleep for the past few nights, by the sound quite close to me, of a door cautiously opened or closed in the yard.