y revived, and no longer feeling at all faint, bad
risen to her feet, and now stood between de Sigognac and the tyrant,
adjusting, with a trembling hand, her disordered dress and dishevelled
hair. Lampourde and Scapin had retired to a little distance from them,
and held themselves modestly aloof, whilst the men within, still bound
hand and foot, kept as quiet as possible; fearful of their fate if
brought to the prince's notice. At length that aged nobleman returned,
and breaking the terrible silence that had weighed upon all, said,
in severe tones, "Let all those who placed their services at the
disposition of the Duke of Vallombreuse, to aid him in indulging
his evil passions and committing a terrible crime, quit this chateau
instantly. I will refrain from placing you in the hands of the public
executioner, though you richly deserve it. Go now! vanish! get ye back
to your lairs! and rest assured that justice will not fail to overtake
you at last."

These words were not complimentary, but the trembling offenders were
thankful to get off so easily, and the ruffians, whom Lampourde and
Scapin had unbound, followed Malartic down the stairs in silence,
without daring to claim their promised reward. When they had
disappeared, the prince advanced and took Isabelle by the hand, and
gently detaching her from the group of which she had formed a part, led
her over to where he had been standing, and kept her beside him.

"Stay here, mademoiselle," he said; "your place is henceforth by
my side. It is the least that you can do to fulfil your duty as my
daughter, since you are the innocent means of depriving me of my son."
And he wiped away a tear, that, despite all his efforts to control his
grief, rolled down his withered cheek. Then turning to de Sigognac, he
said, with an incomparably noble gesture, "Sir, you are at liberty to
withdraw, with your brave companions. Isabelle will have nothing to fear
under her father's protection, and this chateau will be her home for
the present. Now that her birth is made known it is not fitting that my
daughter should return to Paris with you. I thank you, though it
costs me the hope of perpetuating my race, for having spared my son a
disgraceful action--what do I say? An abominable crime. I would rather
have a bloodstain on my escutcheon than a dishonourable blot. Since
Vallombreuse was infamous in his conduct, you have done well to kill
him. You have acted like a true gentleman, which I am as