nored companion, and poor Jacques will never know
that he owes his life to a base profligate."

Simon laid his hand on his wife's head.

"Do you know why Simon Fougere wished to make reparation for the crime
of the Vicomte de Talizac?"

"Because Simon Fougere had a loyal and generous heart!"

"Because," said Simon, in solemn tones, "because the Vicomte de Talizac
is my brother!"

"Your brother! But who, then, are you?"

"The son of the Marquis de Fongereues," and in a few words Simon
explained to his wife the situation already known to our readers.

"I reproach myself," concluded Simon, "for having so long concealed my
name from you. I have not seen my father since I was a boy. I am
indebted to him for a few years of happiness, but he was under the
influence of others who awakened in him the pride of race. He has
forgotten the Republican soldier, and has never cared to know whether I
lived or died, since the day that he offered me a princely fortune, rank
and title, to fight against France. But to return to this man, you are
sure he is the friend and accomplice of Talizac?"

"I am sure."

"I have never seen my brother, but I know him to be one of the bitterest
enemies France has. He has fought against us, and I have heard that he
is nearly ruined. Painful as such suspicions are, I am tempted to
believe that the appearance of this Karlstein in this out of the way
place, is due to the fact that this renegade brother of mine has hunted
me up, knowing that at my father's death I can claim my inheritance. I
feel as if we were the cause of this attack on Leigoutte, which is
really directed on the heir of the Fongereueses."

"Horrible!" murmured Francoise.

"Yes, this officer asked me if this inn belonged to me. Dear wife, it is
now doubly our duty to take every measure for the protection of these
people. You must take the children away. I must remain with these
peasants. I wish you to go to the farm of old Father Lasvene--"

"Yes, I know, a league away, in the Outremont gorge."

"I will take you there. Lasvene is a man of sense, and will not be
guilty of any imprudence."

Suddenly Francinette, who was looking out of a window, uttered a shrill
cry, and ran to her mother.

"What is it?" exclaimed Simon, rushing to the window, which he threw
open, but could see nothing.

Francoise soothed the little girl and questioned her.

The child, still wild with fear, pointed to the window. "A man! a bad
man!"

The