After giving her in charge to her own maid, with orders that she should be properly clothed, and made thoroughly comfortable in every way, Isabelle resumed her reading—­or rather tried to resume it; but her thoughts would wander, and after mechanically turning over a few pages in a listless way, she laid the book down, beside her neglected embroidery, on a little table at her elbow.  Leaning her head on her hand, and closing her eyes, she lapsed into a sorrowful reverie—­as, indeed, she had done of late many times every day.

“Oh! what has become of de Sigognac?” she said to herself.  “Where can he be? and does he still think of me, and love me as of old?  Yes, I am sure he does; he will be true and faithful to me so long as he lives, my brave, devoted knight!  I fear that he has gone back to his desolate, old chateau, and, believing that my brother is dead, does not dare to approach me.  It must be that chimerical obstacle that stands in his way—­otherwise he would surely have tried to see me again—­or at least have written to me.  Perhaps I ought to have sent him word that Vallombreuse had recovered; yet how could I do that?  A modest woman shrinks from even seeming to wish to entice her absent lover back to her side.  How often I think that I should be far happier if I could have remained as I was—­an obscure actress; then I could at least have had the bliss of seeing him every day, and of enjoying in peace the sweetness of being loved by such a noble, tender heart as his.  Despite the touching affection and devotion that my princely father lavishes upon me, I feel sad and lonely in this magnificent chateau.  If Vallombreuse were only here his society would help to pass the time; but he is staying away so long—­and I try in vain to make out what he meant when he told me, with such a significant smile, as he bade me adieu, that I would be pleased with what he was about to do.  Sometimes I fancy that I do understand; but I dare not indulge myself with such blissful thoughts for an instant.  If I did, and were mistaken after all, the disappointment would be too cruel—­too heart-rending.  But, if it only could be true! ah! if it only might!  I fear I should go mad with excess of joy.”

The young Comtesse de Lineuil was still absorbed in sad thoughts when a tall lackey appeared, and asked if she would receive his lordship, the Duke of Vallombreuse who had just arrived, at the chateau and desired to speak with her.

“Certainly, I shall be delighted to see him,” she said in glad surprise; “ask him to come to me at once.”

In a few minutes—­which had seemed like hours to Isabelle—­the young duke made his appearance, with beaming eyes, rosy cheeks, light, elastic step, and that air of glorious health and vigour which had distinguished him before his illness.  He threw down his broad felt hat as he came in, and, hastening to his sister’s side, took her pretty white hands and raised them to his lips.