ou a divorce."

To suspect the truth of these affirmations was difficult, and yet
Maurice doubted still.

"So, sir," he said, hesitatingly, "in case I was able to find a
priest----"

The physician was silent. One might have supposed he was blaming himself
for meddling with matters that did not concern him.

Then, almost brusquely, he said:

"Listen to me attentively, Monsieur d'Escorval. I am about to take my
leave, but before I go, I shall take occasion to recommend a good
deal of exercise for the sick lady--I will do this before your host.
Consequently, day after to-morrow, Wednesday, you will hire mules, and
you, Mademoiselle Lacheneur and your old friend, the soldier, will
leave the hotel as if going on a pleasure excursion. You will push on
to Vigano, three leagues from here, where I live. I will take you to a
priest, one of my friends; and he, upon my recommendation, will perform
the marriage ceremony. Now reflect, shall I expect you on Wednesday?"

"Oh, yes, yes, Monsieur. How can I ever thank you?"

"By not thanking me at all. See, here is the innkeeper; you are Monsieur
Dubois, again."

Maurice was intoxicated with joy. He understood the irregularity of
such a marriage, but he knew it would reassure Marie-Anne's troubled
conscience. Poor girl! she was suffering an agony of remorse. It was
that which was killing her.

He did not speak to her on the subject, however, fearing something might
occur to interfere with the project.

But the old physician had not given his word lightly, and everything
took place as he had promised.

The priest at Vigano blessed the marriage of Maurice d'Escorval and of
Marie-Anne Lacheneur, and after inscribing their names upon the church
register, he gave them a certificate, upon which the physician and
Corporal Bavois figured as witnesses.

That same evening the mules were sent back to Saliente, and the
fugitives resumed their journey.

Abbe Midon had counselled them to reach Turin as quickly as possible.

"It is a large city," he said; "you will be lost in the crowd. I have
more than one friend there, whose name and address are upon this paper.
Go to them, and in that way I will try to send you news of your father."

So it was toward Turin that Maurice, Marie-Anne, and Corporal Bavois
directed their steps.

But their progress was very slow, for they were obliged to avoid
frequented roads, and renounce the ordinary modes of transportation.

The fatigue of travel