of a certain set, so with Desgrais the marquise resumed her Parisian manner.  Unhappily the charming abbe was to leave Liege in a few days; and on that account he became all the more pressing, and a third visit, to take place next day, was formally arranged.  Desgrais was punctual:  the marquise was impatiently waiting him; but by a conjunction of circumstances that Desgrais had no doubt arranged beforehand, the amorous meeting was disturbed two or three times just as they were getting more intimate and least wanting to be observed.  Desgrais complained of these tiresome checks; besides, the marquise and he too would be compromised:  he owed concealment to his cloth:  He begged her to grant him a rendezvous outside the town, in some deserted walk, where there would be no fear of their being recognised or followed:  the marquise hesitated no longer than would serve to put a price on the favour she was granting, and the rendezvous was fixed for the same evening.

The evening came:  both waited with the same impatience, but with very different hopes.  The marquise found Desgrais at the appointed spot:  he gave her his arm then holding her hand in his own, he gave a sign, the archers appeared, the lover threw off his mask, Desgrais was confessed, and the marquise was his prisoner.  Desgrais left her in the hands of his men, and hastily made his way to the convent.  Then, and not before, he produced his order from the Sixty, by means of which he opened the marquise’s room.  Under her bed he found a box, which he seized and sealed; then he went back to her, and gave the order to start.

When the marquise saw the box in the hands of Desgrais, she at first appeared stunned; quickly recovering, she claimed a paper inside it which contained her confession.  Desgrais refused, and as he turned round for the carriage to come forward, she tried to choke herself by swallowing a pin.  One of the archers, called Claude, Rolla, perceiving her intention, contrived to get the pin out of her mouth.  After this, Desgrais commanded that she should be doubly watched.

They stopped for supper.  An archer called Antoine Barbier was present at the meal, and watched so that no knife or fork should be put on the table, or any instrument with which she could wound or kill herself.  The marquise, as she put her glass to her mouth as though to drink, broke a little bit off with her teeth; but the archer saw it in time, and forced her to put it out on her plate.  Then she promised him, if he would save her, that she would make his fortune.  He asked what he would have to do for that.  She proposed that he should cut Desgrais’ throat; but he refused, saying that he was at her service in any other way.  So she asked him for pen and paper, and wrote this letter: 

“Dear Theria,—­I am in the hands of Desgrais, who is taking me by road from Liege to Paris.  Come quickly and save me.”