ut in half."

"But if I beg you, my friend, my brother," said Bathilde, in her most
persuasive voice.

"Oh, if you speak like that I shall cry like the Fountain of the
Innocents!"

And Boniface began to sob.

"You will tell me all then, my dear Boniface?"

"Everything."

"Well, tell me first--"

Bathilde stopped.

"What?"

"Can you not imagine, Boniface?"

"Yes, I think so; you want to know what has become of M. Raoul, do you
not?"

"Oh yes," cried Bathilde, "in Heaven's name, what has become of him?"

"Poor fellow!" murmured Boniface.

"Mon Dieu! is he dead?" exclaimed Bathilde, sitting up in the bed.

"No, happily not; but he is a prisoner."

"Where?"

"In the Bastille."

"I feared it," said Bathilde, sinking down in the bed; "in the Bastille!
oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"

"Oh, now you are crying, Mademoiselle Bathilde."

"And I am here in this bed, chained, dying!" cried Bathilde.

"Oh, do not cry like that, mademoiselle; it is your poor Boniface who
begs you."

"No, I will be firm, I will have courage; see, Boniface, I weep no
longer; but you understand that I must know everything from hour to
hour, so that when he dies I may die."

"You die, Mademoiselle Bathilde! oh, never, never!"

"You have promised, you have sworn it. Boniface, you will keep me
informed of all?"

"Oh, wretch that I am, what have I promised!"

"And, if it must be, at the moment--the terrible moment--you will aid
me, you will conduct me, will you not, Boniface? I must see him
again--once--once more--if it be on the scaffold."

"I will do all you desire, mademoiselle," said Boniface, falling on his
knees, and trying vainly to restrain his sobs.

"You promise me?"

"I swear."

"Silence! some one is coming--not a word of this, it is a secret between
us two. Rise, wipe your eyes, do as I do, and leave me."

And Bathilde began to laugh with a feverish nervousness that was
frightful to see. Luckily it was only Buvat, and Boniface profited by
his entrance to depart.

"Well, how are you?" asked the good man.

"Better, father--much better; I feel my strength returning; in a few
days I shall be able to rise; but you, father, why do you not go to the
office?"--Buvat sighed deeply.--"It was kind not to leave me when I was
ill, but now I am getting better, you must return to the library,
father."

"Yes, my child, yes," said Buvat, swallowing his sobs. "Yes, I am
going."

"Are you going without kissing me?"

"No,