The old woman stood silent for a moment, with a face of intense horror,

and then she clasped both hands with a wild cry.

"O my God! And they buried her alive--buried her alive in that dreadful

plague-pit!"

La Masque, leaning against a pillar, stood unmoved; and her voice, when

she spoke, was as coldly sweet as modern ice-cream.

"Not exactly. She was not buried at all, as I happen to know. But when

did you discover that she had the plague, and how could she possibly

have caught it?"

"That I do not know, madam. She seemed well enough all day, though not

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in such high spirits as a bride should be. Toward evening die complained

of a headache and a feeling of faintness; but I thought nothing of it,

and helped her to dress for the bridal. Before it was over, the headache

and faintness grew worse, and I gave her wine, and still suspected

nothing. The last time I came in, she had grown so much worse, that

notwithstanding her wedding dress, she had lain down on her bed, looking

for all the world like a ghost, and told me she had the most dreadful

burning pain in her chest. Then, madame, the horrid truth struck me--I

tore down her dress, and there, sure enough, was the awful mark of

the distemper. `You have the plague!' I shrieked; and then I fled down

stairs and out of the house, like one crazy. O madame, madame! I shall

never forget it--it was terrible! I shall never forget it! Poor, poor

child; and the count does not know a word of it!"

La Masque laughed--a sweet, clear, deriding laugh, "So the count does

not know it, Prudence? Poor man! he will be in despair when he finds it

out, won't he? Such an ardent and devoted lover as he was you know!"

Prudence looked up a little puzzled.

"Yes, madame, I think so. He seemed very fond of her; a great deal

fonder than she ever was of him. The fact is, madame," said Prudence,

lowering her voice to a confidential stage whisper, "she never seemed

fond of him at all, and wouldn't have been married, I think, if she

could have helped it."

"Could have helped it? What do you mean, Prudence? Nobody made her, did

they?"

Prudence fidgeted, and looked rather uneasy.

"Why, madame, she was not exactly forced, perhaps; but you know--you

know you told me--"

"Well?" said La Masque, coldly.

"To do what I could," cried Prudence, in a sort of desperation; "and I

did it, madame, and harassed her about it night and day. And then the

count was there, too, coaxing and entreating; and he was handsome and

had such ways with him that no woman could resist, much less one so

little used to gentlemen as Leoline. And so, Madame Masque, we kept at

her till we got her to consent to it at last; but in her secret heart,

I know she did not want to be married--at least to the count," said

Prudence, on serious afterthought.




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