fered, and
he possessed two sublime virtues--forbearance and charity.

It was easy for such a man to read Marie-Anne's character; and while he
was at the Borderie he endeavored in every possible way to reassure her,
and to restore the self-respect of the unfortunate girl who had confided
in him.

Had he succeeded? He certainly hoped so.

But when he departed and Marie-Anne was again left in solitude, she
could not overcome the feeling of despondency that stole over her.

Many, in her situation, would have regained their serenity of mind,
and even rejoiced. Had she not succeeded in concealing her fault? Who
suspected it, except, perhaps, the abbe.

Hence, Marie-Anne had nothing to fear, and everything to hope.

But this conviction did not appease her sorrow. Hers was one of those
pure and proud natures that are more sensitive to the whisperings of
conscience than to the clamors of the world.

She had been accused of having three lovers--Chanlouineau, Martial, and
Maurice. The calumny had not moved her. What tortured her was what these
people did not know--the truth.

Nor was this all. The sublime instinct of maternity had been awakened
within her. When she saw the physician depart, bearing her child, she
felt as if soul and body were being rent asunder. When could she hope
to see again this little son who was doubly dear to her by reason of the
very sorrow and anguish he had cost her? The tears gushed to her eyes
when she thought that his first smile would not be for her.

Ah! had it not been for her promise to Maurice, she would unhesitatingly
have braved public opinion, and kept her precious child.

Her brave and honest nature could have endured any humiliation far
better than the continual lie she was forced to live.

But she had promised; Maurice was her husband, and reason told her that
for his sake she must preserve not her honor, alas! but the semblance of
honor.

And when she thought of her brother, her blood froze in her veins.

Having learned that Jean was roving about the country, she sent for him;
but it was not without much persuasion that he consented to come to the
Borderie.

It was easy to explain Chupin's terror when one saw Jean Lacheneur.
His clothing was literally in tatters, his face wore an expression of
ferocious despair, and a fierce unextinguishable hatred burned in his
eyes.

When he entered the cottage, Marie-Anne recoiled in horror. She did not
recognize him until he spoke.