ring his face with his hands, rocked
his body to and fro as he burst into an agony of tears. The priest
sought not to interrupt him, but turned away his own weeping
countenance, for the anguish of the youth was too painful to
contemplate.

At last the poor soldier looked up and spoke again: "What of my poor
sister?"

"I know nothing," replied the priest; "she is gone whither, none can
tell. A great crime has been committed. By whom, none knows, save God
and the perpetrator thereof. You sent home a large sum of money to
your mother. She was so overjoyed at your good fortune, that she made
no secret of its reception, though I cautioned her against speaking of
it. A fortnight ago, the village was alarmed by the cry of fire. Your
cottage was seen to be in flames. The neighbors hastened thither and
extinguished the blaze. In the smoke and confusion it was not
perceived at first that murder, as well as incendiarism, had done its
foul work." The priest paused, overcome with agitation.

"On! on!" shouted Pierre, "I can bear it all now!"

"Your poor mother was the victim," continued the priest; "she lay on
the hearthstone dead and bleeding. Her bureau had been broken open and
rifled of its contents."

"My sister! my sister!" cried the soldier.

"She was gone. The whole surrounding country was searched, but nothing
was discovered."

"Maria! Maria! could gold have tempted _you_? No! no!--dog that I am,
to suspect you! Misery has driven me mad!" cried the soldier, dashing
his hand against his forehead.

"The whole dreadful crime," said the old priest, "is shrouded in a
mystery as appalling as death itself. But God does not permit such
deeds to slumber undetected or unavenged. Sooner or later they are
brought to light."

"May I prove the instrument of detection!" said the soldier. "Some of
the coins that I sent my poor murdered mother were marked--I could
recognize them again. Father, you shall take me to my mother's grave.
One prayer there--one word with Estelle--and then I will go to Paris;
it is the resort of every criminal, and thence it sends forth its
crime-blackened ruffians to desecrate this fair earth with horror.
Come, father, come--my mother's grave--lead me there at once!"

* * * * *

Years passed away. Save by two or three persons, the crime which had
desecrated the hearthstone of a humble village home was forgotten in
those great historical events, of which Europe and Franc