ur feet that I should die."

"Die! Gaston! you see that you are pardoned."

"Oh, monseigneur, punish me, in Heaven's name; for you must indeed
despise me if you pardon me."

"But have you not guessed?" asked the regent.

"What?"

"The reason why I pardon you."

Gaston cast a retrospective glance upon the past, his sad and solitary
youth, his brother's despairing death, his love for Helene, those days
that seemed so long away from her, those nights that passed so quickly
beneath the convent window, his journey to Paris, the duke's kindness to
the young girl, and last, this unexpected clemency; but in all this he
beheld nothing, he divined nothing.

"Thank Helene," said the duke, who saw that Gaston vainly sought the
cause of what had happened; "thank Helene, for it is she who saves your
life."

"Helene! monseigneur."

"I cannot punish my daughter's affianced husband."

"Helene, your daughter! oh, monseigneur, and I would have killed you!"

"Yes, remember what you said just now. We set out the chosen one, we
return the murderer. And sometimes you see more than a murderer--a
parricide--for I am almost your father," said the duke, holding out his
hand to Gaston.

"Monseigneur, have mercy on me."

"You have a noble heart, Gaston."

"And you, monseigneur, are a noble prince. Henceforth, I am yours body
and soul. Every drop of my blood for one tear of Helene's, for one wish
of your highness's."

"Thanks, Gaston," said the duke, smiling, "I will repay your devotion by
your happiness."

"I, happy, through your highness! Ah! monseigneur, God revenges himself
in permitting you to return me so much good for the evil I intended
you."

The regent smiled at this effusion of simple joy, when the door opened
and gave entrance to a green domino.

"Captain la Jonquiere!" cried Gaston.

"Dubois!" murmured the duke, frowning.

"Monseigneur," said Gaston, hiding his face in his hands, pale with
affright; "monseigneur, I am lost. It is no longer I who must be saved.
I forgot my honor, I forgot my friends."

"Your friends, monsieur?" said the duke, coldly. "I thought you no
longer made common cause with such men."

"Monseigneur, you said I had a noble heart; believe me when I say that
Pontcalec, Montlouis, Du Couedic, and Talhouet have hearts as noble as
my own."

"Noble!" repeated the duke, contemptuously.

"Yes, monseigneur, I repeat what I said."

"And do you know what they would have done, my poor child?