am's ass has spoken. Nothing will astonish
me after this. And where are the hundred thousand crowns which (so M.
Camusot tells me) are here in my house?"

"Here they are," said she, pulling out a bundle of banknotes from
beneath the cushions of her settee. "I have not committed mortal sin
by declaring that M. Chesnel gave them into my keeping."

"While I was away?"

"You were not here."

"Will you swear that to me on your salvation?"

"I swear it," she said composedly.

"Then why did you say nothing to me about it?" demanded he.

"I was wrong there," said his wife, "but my mistake was all for your
good. Your niece will be Marquise d'Esgrignon some of these days, and
you will perhaps be a deputy, if you behave well in this deplorable
business. You have gone too far; you must find out how to get back
again."

Du Croisier, under stress of painful agitation, strode up and down his
drawing-room; while his wife, in no less agitation, awaited the result
of this exercise. Du Croisier at length rang the bell.

"I am not at home to any one to-night," he said, when the man
appeared; "shut the gates; and if any one calls, tell them that your
mistress and I have gone into the country. We shall start directly
after dinner, and dinner must be half an hour earlier than usual."

The great news was discussed that evening in every drawing-room;
little shopkeepers, working folk, beggars, the noblesse, the merchant
class--the whole town, in short, was talking of the Comte
d'Esgrignon's arrest on a charge of forgery. The Comte d'Esgrignon
would be tried in the Assize Court; he would be condemned and branded.
Most of those who cared for the honor of the family denied the fact.
At nightfall Chesnel went to Mme. Camusot and escorted the stranger to
the Hotel d'Esgrignon. Poor Mlle. Armande was expecting him; she led
the fair Duchess to her own room, which she had given up to her, for
his lordship the Bishop occupied Victurnien's chamber; and, left alone
with her guest, the noble woman glanced at the Duchess with most
piteous eyes.

"You owed help, indeed, madame, to the poor boy who ruined himself for
your sake," she said, "the boy to whom we are all of us sacrificing
ourselves."

The Duchess had already made a woman's survey of Mlle. d'Esgrignon's
room; the cold, bare, comfortless chamber, that might have been a
nun's cell, was like a picture of the life of the heroic woman before
her. The Duchess saw it all--past, present,