mirable
dexterity, was stanching the blood and applying bandages which had been
torn from the linen of those present.

Maurice and one of the officers were assisting him. "Ah! if I had my
hands on the scoundrel who cut the rope," cried the corporal, in a
passion of indignation; "but patience. I shall have him yet."

"Do you know who it was?"

"Only too well!"

He said no more. The abbe had done all it was possible to do, and he now
lifted the wounded man a little higher on Mme. d'Escorval's knee.

This change of position elicited a moan that betrayed the unfortunate
baron's intense sufferings. He opened his eyes and faltered a few
words--they were the first he had uttered.

"Firmin!" he murmured, "Firmin!" It was the name of the baron's former
secretary, a man who had been absolutely devoted to his master, but who
had been dead for several years. It was evident that the baron's mind
was wandering. Still he had some vague idea of his terrible situation,
for in a stifled, almost inaudible voice, he added:

"Oh! how I suffer! Firmin, I will not fall into the hands of the Marquis
de Courtornieu alive. You shall kill me rather--do you hear me? I
command it."

This was all; then his eyes closed again, and his head fell back a dead
weight. One would have supposed that he had yielded up his last sigh.

Such was the opinion of the officers; and it was with poignant anxiety
they drew the abbe a little aside.

"Is it all over?" they asked. "Is there any hope?"

The priest sadly shook his head, and pointing to heaven:

"My hope is in God!" he said, reverently.

The hour, the place, the terrible catastrophe, the present danger, the
threatening future, all combined to lend a deep solemnity to the words
of the priest.

So profound was the impression that, for more than a minute, these men,
familiar with peril and scenes of horror, stood in awed silence.

Maurice, who approached, followed by Corporal Bavois, brought them back
to the exigencies of the present.

"Ought we not to make haste and carry away my father?" he asked. "Must
we not be in Piedmont before evening?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the officers, "let us start at once."

But the priest did not move, and in a despondent voice, he said:

"To make any attempt to carry Monsieur d'Escorval across the frontier in
his present condition would cost him his life."

This seemed so inevitably a death-warrant for them all, that they
shuddered.

"My God! what shall we d