"So it appears," he murmured, "since De Maurepas, you, and my own legs are all of the same story. Well, he will be after me in a few moments, that good Maurepas, and then I shall get to my room again." "I think I know M. de Maurepas a little," said Aline; "he is very religious." Cléry gave a faint laugh. "Yes, we are strange room-mates, he and I. He prays all the time and I not at all, since I never could imagine that le bon Dieu could possibly be interested in my banal conversation; but he is a good comrade, that Maurepas, in spite of his prayers." "But, Monsieur, how come you to be so ill? If you knew how I have reproached myself, and now to see you like this—oh, you cannot tell how I feel." Cléry found the pity in her eyes very agreeable. "And why reproach yourself, Citoyenne; it is not your fault that my cell is damp." "No, no, but your arrest; to think that I should have brought that upon you. Had I known, I would have done anything rather than ask your help." "Ah, then you would have deprived me of a pleasure. Indeed, Citoyenne, my arrest need not trouble you; it was due, not to your affairs, but my own." "Ah, M. Cléry, is that true?" and her voice spoke her relief. "I should be able to think better of myself if it were not," said Cléry a little bitterly. "I was a fool, and I am being punished for my folly. Dangeau warned me too. When you see him again, Citoyenne, you may tell him that he was right about Thérèse." "Thérèse—Thérèse Marcel?" asked Aline, shrinking a little. "Ah—you know her! Well, I trusted her, and she betrayed me, and here I am. Dangeau always said that she was dangerous—the devil’s imitation of a woman, he called her once, and you can tell him that he was quite right." Aline averted her eyes, and her colour rose a shade. For a moment her heart felt warm. Then she looked back at Cléry, and fell quickly upon her knees beside him, for he was gasping for breath, and falling sideways from the stool. She managed to support him for the moment, but her heart beat violently, and at the sound of footsteps she called out. To her relief, M. de Maurepas came up quickly. If he felt any surprise at finding her in such a situation, he was too well-bred to show it. "Do not be alarmed," he said hastily. "He has been very ill, but this is only a swoon; he should not have walked." Then, "Mademoiselle, move your arm, and let me put mine around him, so—now I can manage." He lifted Cléry as he spoke, and carried him the length of the corridor. "Now, if Mademoiselle will have the goodness to push the door a little wider," and he passed in and laid Cléry gently down. Mademoiselle hesitated by the door for a minute. "He looks so ill, will he die?" she said. "Not of this," returned M. de Maurepas; then, after a moment’s pause, and with a grave smile, "Nor at all till it is God’s will, Mademoiselle."