CHAPTER XXII.
TWO NAILS IN THE WALL.
The long day during which the lovers had drained a cup at once so sweet and so bitter, and one of the two had felt alike the throb of pain and the thrill of kisses, came to an end at last; and without further incident.

Encouraged by the respite--for who that is mortal does not hope against hope--they ventured on the following morning to lower the shutters, and this to a great extent restored the house to its normal aspect.

Anne would have gone so far as to attend the morning preaching at St.Pierre, for it was Friday; but her mother awoke low and nervous, the girl dared not quit her side, and Claude had no field for the urgent dissuasions which he had prepared himself to use.
The greater part of the day she remained above stairs, busied in the petty offices, and moving to and fro--he could hear her tread--upon the errands of love, to see her in the midst of which might well have confuted the slanders that crept abroad.

But there were times in the day when Madame Royaume slept; and then, who can blame Anne, if she stole down and sat hand in hand with Claude on the settle, whispering sometimes of those things of which lovers whisper, and will whisper to the world's end; but more often of the direr things before these two lovers, and so of faith and hope and the love that does not die.

For the most part it was she who talked.