sincere, that Tantaine addressed her in a kindlier
voice.

"Stick to that," said he, "and I can say to you, 'Hope.' Upon the day on
which the young man's business is settled you will get a paper from me,
which will prove your complete innocence, and enable you to say, 'I have
been grossly maligned.'"

"May the dear young man's business be settled sharp," said she.

"It will not be long before it is so; but, remember, in the meantime you
must keep an eye upon him."

"I will do so."

"And, remember, report to me whoever comes to see him, no matter who it
may be."

"Not a soul can go upstairs without my seeing or hearing him."

"Well, if any one, save the master, Dr. Hortebise, or myself comes, do
not lose a moment, but come and report."

"You shall know in five minutes."

"I wonder if that is all I have to say?" mused Tantaine. "Ah! I
remember: note exactly the hour at which this young man comes and goes.
Do not have any conversation with him; answer all questions he addresses
you with a simple 'Yes,' or 'No,' and, as I said before, watch his every
movement."

And Tantaine turned to go away, paying no attention to the woman's eager
protestations.

"Keep a strict watch," were his last words, "and, above all, see that
the lad gets into no scrape."

In Tantaine's presence Paul had endeavored to assume an air of bravado,
but as soon as he was left alone he was seized with such mortal terror,
that he sank in a half fainting condition into an easy-chair. He felt
that he was not going to put on a disguise for a brief period, but for
life, and that now, though he rose in life, wealth, title, even a
wife would all have been obtained by a shameful and skilfully planned
deception, and this deception he must keep up until the day of his
death. He shuddered as he recalled Tantaine's words, "Paul Violaine is
dead." He recalled the incidents in the life of the escaped galley-slave
Coignard, who, under the name of Pontis de St. Helene, absolutely
assumed the rank of a general officer, and took command of a domain.
Coignard was recognized and betrayed by an old fellow-prisoner, and
this was exactly the risk that Paul knew he must run, for any of his old
companions might recognize and denounce him. Had he on such an occasion
sufficient presence of mind to turn laughingly to his accuser, and say,
"Really, my good fellow, you are in error, for I never set eyes on you
before?"

He felt that he could not do it, and had he an