Great criminals carry with them a kind of predestination， causing them to surmount all obstacles， causing them to escape all dangers up to the moment which Providence， exhausted， has designated as the reef of their impious fortunes.
Thus it was with milady. She passed through the cruisers of both nations， and reached Boulogne without accident.
On landing at Portsmouth milady was an Englishwoman， driven from Rochelle by the persecutions of the French. On landing at Boulogne， after a two days’ passage， she claimed to be a Frenchwoman， whom the English persecuted at Portsmouth， out of their hatred for France.
Milady had likewise the most efficacious of passports—her beauty， her noble appearance， and the generosity with which she scattered pistoles. Freed from the usual formalities by the affable smile and gallant manners of an old governor of the port， who kissed her hand， she only stayed long enough at Boulogne to post a letter， conceived in the following terms：
“To his Eminence Monseigneur Cardinal Richelieu， in his camp before Rochelle：
“Monseigneur， let your Eminence be reassured： his Grace the Duke of Buckingham will not set out for France.
“Boulogne， evening of the 25th.
“Lady de—.
“P.S.—According to your Eminence’s desire， I am going to the convent of the Carmelites at Béthune， where I will await your orders.”
In fact， that same evening milady began her journey. Night overtook her. She stopped and slept at an inn. At five o’clock the next morning she was on her way again， and three hours later entered Béthune.
She inquired for the Carmelite convent， and went to it immediately.
The superior came to meet her. Milady showed her the cardinal’s order. The abbess assigned her a chamber， and had breakfast served.
After breakfast the abbess came to pay her a visit. There are very few distractions in the cloister， and the good mother-superior was eager to make acquaintance with her new inmate.
Milady wished to please the abbess. Now this was an easy matter for a woman so really superior as she was. She tried to be agreeable. She was charming， and won the good nun by her varied conversation， and by the graces of her whole person.
But here she was greatly embarrassed. She did not know whether the abbess was a royalist or a cardinalist； she therefore confined herself to a prudent middle course. But the abbess on her part maintained a still more prudent reserve， contenting herself with making a profound inclination of the head every time that the fair traveller pronounced his Eminence’s name.
Milady began to think she should be very greatly bored in the convent； so she resolved to risk something， in order immediately to know how to act afterwards. Desirous of seeing how far the good abbess’s discretion would go， she began to tell a scandal， carefully veiled at first， but very circumstantial afterwards， about the cardinal， relating the minister’s amours with Madame d’Aiguillon， Marion de Lorme， and several other women of easy virtue.
The abbess listened more attentively， grew animated by degrees， and smiled.
“Good！” thought milady； “she likes my conversation. If she is a cardinalist， she has no fanaticism， at least， in it.”
She then went on to describe the persecutions wreaked by the cardinal on his enemies. The abbess only crossed herself without approving or disapproving. This confirmed milady in her opinion that the nun was rather a royalist than a cardinalist. Milady， therefore， continued colouring her narrations more and more.
“I am very ignorant about all these matters，” said the abbess at length； “but though we are distant from the court and remote from the interests of the world， we have very sad examples of what you have related； and one of our inmates has suffered much from the cardinal’s vengeance and persecution.”
“One of your inmates！” said milady. “O Heavens！ Poor woman， I pity her， then！”
“And you are right， for she is much to be pitied. Imprisonment， threats， ill-treatment—she has suffered everything. But after all，” resumed the abbess， “the cardinal has perhaps plausible motives for acting thus； and though she has the look of an angel， we must not always judge people by appearances.”
“The cardinal does not only pursue crimes”， said milady， “there are certain virtues which he pursues more severely than certain offences.”
“Permit me， madame， to express my surprise，” said the abbess.
“At what？” asked milady naively.
“At the language you use.”
“What do you find so astonishing in my language？” asked milady， smiling.
“You are the cardinal’s friend， for he sends you here， and yet—”
“And yet I speak ill of him，” replied milady， finishing the mother-superior’s thought.
“At least， you don’t speak well of him.”
“That is because I am not his friend，” said she， sighing， “but his victim！”
“Then， madame，” said the abbess， smiling， “be reassured. The house in which you are will not be a very hard prison， and we will do all in our power to make you love your captivity. You will find here， moreover， that young woman who is persecuted， no doubt， in consequence of some court intrigue. She is amiable and courteous.”
“And when can I see this young lady， for whom I already feel so great a sympathy？” asked milady.
“Why， this evening，” said the abbess； “even during the day. But you told me you had been travelling these four days. This morning you rose at five o’clock； you must need rest. Go to bed and sleep； at dinner-time we will wake you.”
Though milady would very willingly have gone without sleep， sustained as she was by all the excitements that a fresh adventure was awakening in her heart， ever thirsting for intrigues， she nevertheless accepted the mother-superior’s advice. During the preceding twelve or fifteen days she had experienced so many different emotions that if her iron frame was still capable of supporting fatigue， her mind required repose. She therefore took leave of the abbess and went to bed.
