free will to spend the winter in so dreary a solitude.

Taking advantage of the last moments of daylight, I rode
cautiously round the house, and, keeping in the shadow of the
trees, had no difficulty in discovering at the north-east corner
the balcony of which I had been told. It was semi-circular in
shape, with a stone balustrade, and hung some fifteen feet above
a terraced walk which ran below it, and was separated from the
chase by a low sunk fence.

I was surprised to observe that, notwithstanding the rain and the
coldness of the evening, the window which gave upon this balcony
was open. Nor was this all. Luck was in store for me at last.
I had not gazed at the window more than a minute, calculating its
height and other particulars, when, to my great joy, a female
figure, closely hooded, stepped out and stood looking up at the
sky. I was too far off to be able to discern by that uncertain
light whether this was Mademoiselle de la Vire or her woman; but
the attitude was so clearly one of dejection and despondency,
that I felt sure it was either one or the other. Determined not
to let the opportunity slip, I dismounted hastily and, leaving
the Cid loose, advanced on foot until I stood within half-a-dozen
paces of the window.

At that point the watcher became aware of me. She started back,
but did not withdraw. Still peering down at me, she called
softly to some one inside the chamber, and immediately a second
figure, taller and stouter, appeared. I had already doffed my
cap, and I now, in a low voice, begged to know if I had the
honour of speaking to Mademoiselle de la Vire. In the growing