"I sought her in the Quartier St. Gervais," said I Gautran, speaking like a man in a dream, "and found her at eight o'clock in the company of a man. I watched them, and kept out of their sight.

"He was speaking to her softly, and some things he said to her made her smile; and every time she showed her white teeth I swore that she should be mine and mine alone. They remained together for an hour, and then they parted, he going one way, Madeline another.

"I followed her along the banks of the river, and when no one was near us I spoke to her. She was not pleased with my company, and bade me leave her, but I replied that I had something particular to say to her, and did not intend to go till it was spoken.

"It was a dark night; there was no moon.

"I told her I had been watching her, and that I knew she had another lover. 'Do you mean to give me up?' I said, and she answered that she had never accepted me, and that after that night she would never see me again. I said it might happen, and that it might be the last night we should ever see each other. She asked me if I was going away, and I said no, it might be her that was going away on the longest journey she had ever taken. 'What journey?' she asked, and I answered, a journey with Death for the coachman, for I had sworn a dozen times that night that if she would not swear upon her cross to be true and faithful to me, I would kill her.

"I said it twice, and some persons passed and turned to look at us, but there was not light enough to see us clearly.

"Madeline would have cried to them for help, but I held my hand over her mouth, and whispered that if she uttered a word it would be her last, and that she need not be frightened, for I loved her too well to do her any harm.

"But when we were alone again, and no soul was near us, I told her again that as sure as there was a sky above us I would kill her, unless she swore to give up her other lover, and be true to me. She said she would promise, and she put her little hand in mine and pressed it, and said:

"'Gautran, I will be only yours; now let us go back.'

"But I told her it was not enough; that she must kneel, and swear upon the holy cross that she would have nothing to do with any man but me. I forced her upon her knees, and knelt by her side, and put the cross to her lips; and then she began to sob and tremble. She dared not put her soul in peril, she said; she did not love me--how could she swear to be true to me?

"I said it was that or death, and that it would be the blackest hour of my life to kill her, but that I meant to do it if she would not give in to me. I asked her for the last time whether she would take the oath, and she said she daren't. Then I told her to say a prayer, for she had not five minutes to live. She started to her feet and ran along the bank. I ran after her, and she stumbled and fell to the ground, and before she could escape me again I had her in my arms to fling her into the river.

"She did not scratch or bite me, but clung to me, and her tears fell all about my face. I said to her:

"'You love me, kissing me so; swear then; it is not too late!'

"But she cried:

"No, no! I kiss you so that you may not have the heart to kill me!'

"Soon she got weak, and her arms had no power in them, and I lifted her high in the air, and flung her far from me into the river.

"I waited a minute or two, and thought she was dead, but then I heard a bubbling and a scratching, and, looking down, saw that by a miracle she had got back to the river's brink, and that there was yet life in her. I pulled her out, and she clung to me in a weak way, and whispered, nearly choked the while, that the Virgin Mary would not let me kill her.

"Will you take the oath?' I asked, and she shook her head from side to side.

"'No! no! no!'

"I took my handkerchief, and tied it tight round her neck, and she smiled in my face. Then I lifted her up, and threw her into the river again.

"I saw her no more that night!"

* * * * * *

The Advocate removed his eyes, with a shudder, from the eyes of the wretch who had made this horrible confession, and who now sank to the ground, quivering in every limb, crying:

"Save me, master, save me!"

"Monster!" exclaimed the Advocate. "Live and die accursed!"

But the terror-stricken man did not hear the words, and the Advocate, upon whose features, during Gautran's narration, a deep gloom had settled, strode swiftly from him through the peaceful narrow lane, fragrant with the perfume of limes, at the end of which the lights in the House of White Shadows were shining a welcome to him.

BOOK III.--THE GRAVE OF HONOUR.