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CHAPTER XXII.
"'Tis not alone
The human being's pride that peoples space
With pride and mystical predominance."
Coleridge.
It was early the next morning when Francesca was awakened by the curtains of her bed being put aside, and the red light of morning fell on the pale countenance of Madame de Soissons.
"Francesca, dearest!" said she, in a hollow and constrained voice, "I have a favour to implore. Lead me to Guido's grave; my soul cannot rest in peace till I have knelt and prayed beside it."
"Marie," exclaimed Francesca, gradually recalling the events of the preceding evening, "you are in no fit state to meet more agitation. Some other time."
"Now, now!" interrupted the Comtesse, impatiently. "All is quiet in the Castle. I entreat you to accompany me. I know how strange you must think my conduct; but there—there I will tell you all."
