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Angelique's voice was like the cry of a wounded panther tearing at the arrow which has pierced his flank. "Is Angelique des Meloises to be humiliated by that woman? Never! But my bright dreams will have no fulfilment so long as she lives at Beaumanoir, so long as she lives anywhere!"

And again he implored her to put the uncanny "monster" out of the house. Margot laughed; as she was always doing; but going to the table filled a plate with fragments from the stew and calling Tom, set the dish before him on the threshold. "There's your supper, Thomas the King! Which means, no more of Angelique's chickens, dead or alive."

Angélique's low interrogating call, made while she keenly listened with lifted face, had its only response in a mutter from Wachique, who feared any invocation of spirits. Peggy sat looking straight ahead of her without a word. She could not wash her face soft with tears, and she felt no reaching out towards disembodiment.

A band of English went to Angelique's home, thinking that he would be sure to rejoin her; but he was too shrewd for that, and it was in vain that they fired guns up the chimneys and thrust bayonets into beds. Angelique was terrified at this intrusion, but the men had been ordered not to injure the woman, and she was glad, after all, to think that Francois had escaped.

And all this was owing to the example and influence of one little girl, who had been thrust into a position for which she had certainly shown no liking. In the last twenty-five years of Angélique's life her religious views underwent a change, and her confessor, St. Cyran, who shared them, was imprisoned, on a charge of heresy, at Vincennes.

But only to look up and smile into Soeur Angélique's sweet face was pleasure enough for the girl, and she lay very quietly, holding a rose that Denham had sent her over by his sister, and feeling supremely contented. "How would you like me to read to you?" asked Mrs. Whittridge at last, taking up a book. "Shall I try it?" "No, thank you.

Angelique's notions of honor, clear enough in theory, never prevented her sacrificing them without compunction to gain an object or learn a secret that interested her. "I will willingly tell you all I know, my Lady. I have seen her once; none of the servants are supposed to know she is in the Chateau, but of course all do."

"I am the godmother of this child," she declared; "it is for me to say what she shall do." The patriarch of a French family was held in such veneration that it was little less than a crime to cross her. The thralldom did not ruin Angélique's health, though it grew heavier with her years; but it made her old in patient endurance and sympathetic insight while she was a child.

"I feel greatly obliged to you, signora, for your timely notice." But the most amusing part of the affair was that I construed Angelique's wanton insult into a declaration of love. I was astounded. Lucrezia, remarking the state I was in, touched my arm, enquiring what ailed me. I told her, and she said at once,

To say "You have loved" almost obliges them to ask "Whom?" Nevertheless, this was not the word uttered by Mademoiselle de Guerchi while she ran through in her head a list of possibilities. Her answer was "Your language astonishes me; I don't understand what you mean." The ice was broken, and the treasurer made a plunge. Seizing one of Angelique's hands, he asked