y poor boy! you whom I loved as a son (for I looked upon you as
Edmee's brother), do not hasten to your ruin. I beseech you in the
name of her whom you have murdered, and whom you still love--I can see
it--but whom you may never behold again. Believe me, but yesterday your
family was a proud vessel, whose helm was in your hands; to-day it is
a drifting wreck, without either sail or pilot--left to be handled
by cabinboys, as friend Marcasse says. Well, my poor mariner, do not
persist in drowning yourself; I am throwing you a rope; take it--a day
more, and it may be too late. Remember that if the law gets hold of you,
the man who is trying to save you to-day, to-morrow will be obliged to
appear against you and condemn you. Do not compel me to do a thing the
very thought of which brings tears to my eyes. Bernard, you have been
loved, my lad; even to-day you may live on the past."

I burst into tears, and the sergeant, who returned at this moment, began
to weep also; he implored me to go back to Roche-Mauprat; but I soon
recovered and, thrusting them both away, said:

"I know that both of you are excellent men, and both most generous; you
must have some love for me too, since, though you believe me blackened
with a hideous crime, you can still think of saving my life. But have no
fears on my account, good friends; I am innocent of this crime, and my
one wish is that the matter may be fully investigated, so that I may be
acquitted--yes, this is inevitable, I owe it to my family to live until
my honour has been freed from stain. Then, if I am condemned to see my
cousin die, as I have no one in the world to love but her, I will blow
my brains out. Why, then, should I be downcast? I set little store by
my life. May God make the last hours of her whom I shall certainly not
survive painless and peaceful--that is all I ask of Him."

Patience shook his head with a gloomy, dissatisfied expression. He was
so convinced of my crime that all my denials only served to alienate his
pity. Marcasse still loved me, though he thought I was guilty. I had no
one in the world to answer for my innocence, except myself.

"If you persist on returning to the chateau," exclaimed Patience, "you
must swear before you leave that you will not enter your cousin's room,
or your uncle's, without the abbe's permission."

"What I swear is that I am innocent," I replied, "and that I will
allow no man to saddle me with a crime. Back, both of you! Let me pass