_P. S._ Tell Urraca to be sure and call me nothing but M. Henarez.
Don't say a word about me to Marie. You must be the one living soul to
know the secrets of the last Christianized Moor, in whose veins runs
the blood of a great family, which took its rise in the desert and is
now about to die out in the person of a solitary exile.

Farewell.



VII

LOUISE DE CHAULIEU TO RENEE DE MAUCOMBE

WHAT! To be married so soon. But this is unheard of. At the end of a
month you become engaged to a man who is a stranger to you, and about
whom you know nothing. The man may be deaf--there are so many kinds of
deafness!--he may be sickly, tiresome, insufferable!

Don't you see, Renee, what they want with you? You are needful for
carrying on the glorious stock of the l'Estorades, that is all. You
will be buried in the provinces. Are these the promises we made each
other? Were I you, I would sooner set off to the Hyeres islands in a
caique, on the chance of being captured by an Algerian corsair and
sold to the Grand Turk. Then I should be a Sultana some day, and
wouldn't I make a stir in the harem while I was young--yes, and
afterwards too!

You are leaving one convent to enter another. I know you; you are a