Felton made no reply, took the book with the same appearance of repugnance which he had before manifested, and retired pensively.

Lord de Winter came toward five o’clock in the evening.  Milady had had time, during the whole day, to trace her plan of conduct.  She received him like a woman who had already recovered all her advantages.

“It appears,” said the baron, seating himself in the armchair opposite that occupied by Milady, and stretching out his legs carelessly upon the hearth, “it appears we have made a little apostasy!”

“What do you mean, sir!”

“I mean to say that since we last met you have changed your religion.  You have not by chance married a Protestant for a third husband, have you?”

“Explain yourself, my Lord,” replied the prisoner, with majesty; “for though I hear your words, I declare I do not understand them.”

“Then you have no religion at all; I like that best,” replied Lord de Winter, laughing.

“Certainly that is most in accord with your own principles,” replied Milady, frigidly.

“Oh, I confess it is all the same to me.”

“Oh, you need not avow this religious indifference, my Lord; your debaucheries and crimes would vouch for it.”

“What, you talk of debaucheries, Madame Messalina, Lady Macbeth!  Either I misunderstand you or you are very shameless!”

“You only speak thus because you are overheard,” coolly replied Milady; “and you wish to interest your jailers and your hangmen against me.”

“My jailers and my hangmen!  Heyday, madame! you are taking a poetical tone, and the comedy of yesterday turns to a tragedy this evening.  As to the rest, in eight days you will be where you ought to be, and my task will be completed.”

“Infamous task! impious task!” cried Milady, with the exultation of a victim who provokes his judge.

“My word,” said de Winter, rising, “I think the hussy is going mad!  Come, come, calm yourself, Madame Puritan, or I’ll remove you to a dungeon.  It’s my Spanish wine that has got into your head, is it not?  But never mind; that sort of intoxication is not dangerous, and will have no bad effects.”

And Lord de Winter retired swearing, which at that period was a very knightly habit.

Felton was indeed behind the door, and had not lost one word of this scene.  Milady had guessed aright.

“Yes, go, go!” said she to her brother; “the effects are drawing near, on the contrary; but you, weak fool, will not see them until it is too late to shun them.”

Silence was re-established.  Two hours passed away.  Milady’s supper was brought in, and she was found deeply engaged in saying her prayers aloud—­prayers which she had learned of an old servant of her second husband, a most austere Puritan.  She appeared to be in ecstasy, and did not pay the least attention to what was going on around her.  Felton made a sign that she should not be disturbed; and when all was arranged, he went out quietly with the soldiers.