, addressing the three imprudent
travellers, "what has induced you to return here?"

Then turning to Maurice:

"Is it not enough that _for_ you, and _through_ you, your father has
nearly died? Are you afraid he will not be recaptured, that you return
here to set the enemies upon his track? Depart!"

The poor boy, quite overwhelmed, faltered his excuse. Uncertainty seemed
to him worse than death; he had heard of M. Lacheneur's execution; he
had not reflected, he would go at once; he asked only to see his father
and to embrace his mother.

The priest was inflexible.

"The slightest emotion might kill your father," he declared; "and to
tell your mother of your return, and of the dangers to which you have
foolishly exposed yourself, would cause her untold tortures. Go at once.
Cross the frontier again this very night."

Jean Lacheneur, who had witnessed this scene, now approached.

"It is time for me to depart," said he, "and I entreat you to care for
my sister, the place for her is here, not upon the highways."

The abbe deliberated for a moment, then he said, brusquely:

"So be it; but go at once; your name is not upon the proscribed list.
You will not be pursued."

Thus, suddenly separated from his wife, Maurice wished to confer with
her, to give her some parting advice; but the abbe did not allow him an
opportunity.

"Go, go at once," he insisted. "Farewell!"

The good abbe was too hasty.

Just when Maurice stood sorely in need of wise counsel, he was thus
delivered over to the influence of Jean Lacheneur's furious hatred. As
soon as they were outside:

"This," exclaimed Jean, "is the work of the Sairmeuse and the Marquis
de Courtornieu! I do not even know where they have thrown the body of
my murdered parent; you cannot even embrace the father who has been
traitorously assassinated by them!"

He laughed a harsh, discordant, terrible laugh, and continued:

"And yet, if we ascended that hill, we could see the Chateau de
Sairmeuse in the distance, brightly illuminated. They are celebrating
the marriage of Martial de Sairmeuse and Blanche de Courtornieu. _We_
are homeless wanderers without friends, and without a shelter for our
heads: _they_ are feasting and making merry."

Less than this would have sufficed to rekindle the wrath of Maurice. He
forgot everything in saying to himself that to disturb this fete by his
appearance would be a vengeance worthy of him.

"I will go and challenge Martial now,