en for my child, if I would
not die of shame when he asks for his father--"

"You will reply, Madame, by showing him an honest man and an old
friend, who is ready to give him his name--Monsieur Plantat."

The old justice was broken with grief; yet he had the strength to
say:

"Laurence, my beloved child, I beg you accept me--"

These simple words, pronounced with infinite gentleness and
sweetness, at last melted the unhappy young girl, and determined
her. She burst into tears.

She was saved.

M. Lecoq hastened to throw a shawl which he saw on a chair about
her shoulders, and passed her arm through M. Plantat's, saying to
the latter:

"Go, lead her away; my men have orders to let you pass, and Palot
will lend you his carriage."

"But where shall we go?"

"To Orcival; Monsieur Courtois has been informed by a letter from
me that his daughter is living, and he is expecting her. Come,
lose no time."

M. Lecoq, when he was left alone, listened to the departure of the
carriage which took M. Plantat and Laurence away; then he returned
to Tremorel's body.

"There," said he to himself, "lies a wretch whom I have killed
instead of arresting and delivering him up to justice. Have I done
my duty? No; but my conscience will not reproach me, because I have
acted rightly."

And running to the staircase, he called his men.

XXVIII

The day after Tremorel's death, old Bertaud and Guespin were set at
liberty, and received, the former four thousand francs to buy a boat
and new tackle, and the latter ten thousand francs, with a promise
of a like sum at the end of the year, if he would go and live in
his own province. Fifteen days later, to the great surprise of the
Orcival gossips, who had never learned the details of these events,
M. Plantat wedded Mlle. Laurence Courtois; and the groom and bride
departed that very evening for Italy, where it was announced they
would linger at least a year.

As for Papa Courtois, he has offered his beautiful domain at Orcival
for sale; he proposes to settle in the middle of France, and is on
the lookout for a commune in need of a good mayor.

M. Lecoq, like everybody else, would, doubtless, have forgotten the
Valfeuillu affair, had it not been that a notary called on him
personally the other morning with a very gracious letter from
Laurence, and an enormous sheet of stamped paper. This was no
other than a title deed to M. Plantat's pretty estate at