ed the old man, so severely tried. He held
out his hand.

"M. de Commarin," he said, in a grave, sad voice, "my sister forgave
you long ago, even if she ever had any ill feeling against you. It is my
turn to-day; I forgive you sincerely."

"Thank you, sir," murmured the count, "thank you!" and then he added:
"What a death!"

"Yes," murmured Claire, "she breathed her last in the idea that her son
was guilty of a crime. And we were not able to undeceive her."

"At least," cried the count, "her son should be free to render her his
last duties; yes, he must be. Noel!"

The advocate had approached his father, and heard all.

"I have promised, father," he replied, "to save him."

For the first time, Mademoiselle d'Arlange was face to face with Noel.
Their eyes met, and she could not restrain a movement of repugnance,
which the advocate perceived.

"Albert is already saved," she said proudly. "What we ask is, that
prompt justice shall be done him; that he shall be immediately set at
liberty. The magistrate now knows the truth."

"The truth?" exclaimed the advocate.

"Yes; Albert passed at my house, with me, the evening the crime was
committed."

Noel looked at her surprised; so singular a confession from such a
mouth, without explanation, might well surprise him.

She drew herself up haughtily.

"I am Mademoiselle Claire d'Arlange, sir," said she.

M. de Commarin now quickly ran over all the incidents reported by
Claire.

When he had finished, Noel replied: "You see, sir, my position at this
moment, to-morrow--"

"To-morrow?" interrupted the count, "you said, I believe, to-morrow!
Honour demands, sir, that we act to-day, at this moment. You can show
your love for this poor woman much better by delivering her son than by
praying for her."

Noel bowed low.

"To hear your wish, sir, is to obey it," he said; "I go. This evening,
at your house, I shall have the honour of giving you an account of my
proceedings. Perhaps I shall be able to bring Albert with me."

He spoke, and, again embracing the dead woman, went out.

Soon the count and Mademoiselle d'Arlange also retired.

The old soldier went to the Mayor, to give notice of the death, and to
fulfil the necessary formalities.

The nun alone remained, awaiting the priest, which the cure had promised
to send to watch the corpse.

The daughter of St. Vincent felt neither fear nor embarrassment, she had
been so many times in a similar position. Her praye