her.

"And it is for your sake," whispered an inward voice, "that Martial is
thus working. What does this careless egotist care for these obscure
peasants, whose names he does not even know? If he protects them, it is
only that he may have a right to protect you, and those whom you love!"

With these thoughts in her mind, she could not but feel her aversion to
Martial diminish.

Was not such conduct truly heroic in a man whose dazzling offers she had
refused? Was there not real moral grandeur in the feeling that induced
Martial to reveal a secret which might ruin the political fortunes of
his house, rather than be suspected of an unworthy action? And still
the thought of this _grande passion_ which she had inspired in so truly
great a man never once made her heart quicken its throbbing.

Alas! nothing was capable of touching her heart now; nothing seemed to
reach her through the gloomy sadness that enveloped her.

She was but the ghost of the formerly beautiful and radiant Marie-Anne.
Her quick, alert tread had become slow and dragging, often she sat for
whole days motionless in her chair, her eyes fixed upon vacancy, her
lips contracted as if by a spasm, while great tears rolled silently down
her cheeks.

Abbe Midon, who was greatly disquieted on her account, often attempted
to question her.

"You are suffering, my child," he said, kindly. "What is the matter?"

"I am not ill, Monsieur."

"Why do you not confide in me? Am I not your friend? What do you fear?"

She shook her head sadly and replied:

"I have nothing to confide."

She said this, and yet she was dying of sorrow and anguish.

Faithful to the promise she had made Maurice, she had said nothing of
her condition, or of the marriage solemnized in the little church at
Vigano. And she saw with inexpressible terror, the approach of
the moment when she could no longer keep her secret. Her agony was
frightful; but what could she do!

Fly? but where should she go? And by going, would she not lose all
chance of hearing from Maurice, which was the only hope that sustained
her in this trying hour?

She had almost determined on flight when circumstances--providentially,
it seemed to her--came to her aid.

Money was needed at the farm. The guests were unable to obtain any
without betraying their whereabouts, and Father Poignot's little store
was almost exhausted.

Abbe Midon was wondering what they were to do, when Marie-Anne told him
of the will whic