vanished by now, and I followed him unhesitatingly.
Crossing the road and walking rapidly through a private passage, we
reached the back of the inn. The yard was in partial darkness, but I
made out an old building which communicated by a covered way with the
hostelry. Lighting a candle, Pillot entered this passage and stood
listening intently. No sound could be heard; all was silent as the
grave.

"Too late!" he exclaimed sadly, and, heedless of me, sprang up the
stairs two at a time, the flame of the candle flickering violently. I
heard him turn the handle of the door, and, running up quickly, passed
in with him.

The evening shadows were relieved only by the glimmer of the candle,
but I gave no more than a passing glance at the wretched room. Somehow
I had felt convinced almost from the first that Pillot was telling the
truth, and now the proof was before me.

The dwarf, who had placed the candle on the table, was bending over a
figure close by. It was my cousin, wrapped in an old dressing-gown and
seated in a deep arm-chair. He looked wasted and white, his mouth was
drawn at the corners, his eyes burned deep in their sockets with a red
glow, I could almost see through the thin white hands that lay loosely
on his lap.

Pillot, as I have mentioned, bent over him, and called softly,
"Monsieur, monsieur, your cousin has come; I have fetched your cousin."

"Henri!" I cried--for the dying man apparently took no notice--"I am
your cousin, your cousin Albert. Do you not wish to speak to me?"

There was a faint gleam of recognition in his eyes, and it appeared as
if he were trying to brace himself; then he extended one hand, and said
quietly, "Albert!"

I urged him to let me send for a skilful surgeon, but he shook his head
impatiently, saying, "No, no, he could do nothing. Pillot has been my
doctor and nurse. Good little man!"

One could perceive that he was dying, and I would not disturb him
further, though the dwarf wished to carry him to his bed.

Presently he looked at me with a faint smile whispering, "The elder
branch will lead again. It is well; you are a better De Lalande than
I. At one time I hoped we might have been friends, but you had chosen
your part."

"We can be friends yet."

"No, no; it is too late. What I have done I have done; but there is
one matter pressing on my mind. Will you forgive me for--for----"

"The plot?" I put in cheerfully. "Of course, I forgive you freely; it
w