not look again upon that face. Has she parents, young man?" he
continued, after a brief pause.

"She has been an orphan from infancy," replied De Valette; "and Mad. de
la Tour is almost the only relative whom she claims on earth."

"She is a protestant?" said father Gilbert, inquiringly.

"She is," said De Valette; "though her parents, I have heard, were
Catholics, and Luciè has herself told me, that in her early childhood
she was instructed in that faith."

"Luciè!" muttered the priest, to himself, as if unconscious of another's
presence; "and _that_ name too! but no,--_she_ was not left among the
enemies of our faith,--it is a strange--an idle dream."

He covered his face with his hands, and remained several moments,
apparently in deep musing; and when he again looked up, every trace of
emotion was gone, though a shade of melancholy, deeper even than usual,
had settled on his features.

"Go!" he said to De Valette, "and betray not the weakness you have
witnessed; go in peace, and forget, even to pity me!"

Father Gilbert's manner was too imposing to be disputed, and De Valette
left him with silent reverence,--perplexed by the mystery of his words,
and the singularity of his conduct. Before he reached the house,
however, he had convinced himself, that the priest was not perfectly
sane, and that some fancied resemblance had touched the chords of
memory, and revived the fading images of early, and perhaps unhappy