ched fist, Jean Lacheneur made the table
beside him reel.

"Ah! the secretary was right!" he exclaimed. "Maurice, it was Martial de
Sairmeuse who caused your arrest----"

"Or the Marquis de Courtornieu," interrupted the abbe, with a warning
glance at Jean.

A wrathful light gleamed for an instant in the eyes of Maurice; but it
vanished almost immediately, and he shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"Nonsense," said he, "I do not wish to trouble myself any more about
the past. My father is well again, that is the main thing. We can easily
find some way of getting him safely across the frontier. Marie-Anne
and I, by our devotion, will strive to make him forget that my rashness
almost cost him his life. He is so good, so indulgent to the faults of
others. We will take up our residence in Italy or in Switzerland. You
will accompany us, Monsieur l'Abbe, and you also, Jean. As for you,
corporal, it is decided that you belong to our family."

Nothing could be more horrible than to see this man, upon whose life
such a terrible blight was about to fall, so bright and full of hope and
confidence.

The impression produced upon Jean and the abbe was so terrible, that,
in spite of their efforts, it showed itself in their faces; and Maurice
remarked their agitation.

"What is the matter?" he inquired, in evident surprise.

They trembled, hung their heads, but did not say a word.

The unfortunate man's astonishment changed to a vague, inexpressible
fear.

He enumerated all the misfortunes which could possibly have befallen
him.

"What has happened?" he asked, in a stifled voice. "My father is safe,
is he not? You said that my mother would desire nothing, if I were with
her again. Is it Marie-Anne----"

He hesitated.

"Courage, Maurice," murmured the abbe. "Courage!"

The stricken man tottered as if about to fall; his face grew whiter than
the plastered wall against which he leaned for support.

"Marie-Anne is dead!" he exclaimed.

Jean and the abbe were silent.

"Dead!" Maurice repeated--"and no secret voice warned me! Dead! when?"

"She died only last night," replied Jean.

Maurice rose.

"Last night?" said he. "In that case, then, she is still here. Where?
upstairs?"

And without waiting for any response, he darted toward the staircase so
quickly that neither Jean nor the abbe had time to intercept him.

With three bounds he reached the chamber; he walked straight to the
bed, and with a firm hand turned