Eustacie, standing her ground.

'Insolent! Why, did I not excuse this as a childish delusion,
should I not spurn one who durst love--what say I--not a heretic
merely, but the foe of her father's house?'

'He!' cried Eustacie; 'what had he ever done?'

'He inherited the blood of the traitor Baron,' returned her aunt.
'Ever have that recreant line injured us! My nephew's sword
avenged the wrongs of many generations.'

'Then,' said Eustacie, looking at her with a steady, fixed look of
inquire, 'you, Madame l'Abbesse, would have neither mercy nor pity
for the most innocent offspring of the elder line?'

'Girl, what folly is this to talk to me of innocence. That is not
the question. The question is--obey willingly as my dear daughter,
or compulsion must be used.'

'My question is answered,' said Eustacie, on her side. 'I see that
there is neither pity nor hope from you.'

And with another obeisance, she turned to ascend the stairs.
Madame paced back to her brother.

'What,' he said; 'you have not yet dealt with her?'

'No, brother, I never saw a like mood. She seems neither to fear
nor to struggle. I knew she was too true a Ribaumont for weak