“Who is this fellow?” asked Ribaut, looking from d’Argenson to the priest, purple with rage. “I forbid the marriage,” continued d’Argenson, before the priest could answer, “because it is a conspiracy between these two men to defraud Anne Ribaut of her property.” “It is a lie!” screamed Ribaut, and he shook his fist in his accuser’s face. D’Argenson merely looked at him and smiled. He read guilt in his eyes. [Illustration: “I forbid the marriage”] “Come, M. Ribaut,” he said coolly, “how about those ten thousand crowns you parted with this morning?” Ribaut stared in astonishment, and his blood shot to his eyes, as he realized his danger. “M. le Curé,” he protested at last, with an effort at composure, “one does not believe the ranting of every madman who happens in from the street. Let him bring forward his proof of this ridiculous charge.” “I have my proof,” said d’Argenson, with a calmness I was far from sharing. “Come forward, my friend,” he added, turning towards the place where I stood. I lifted the tapestry and stepped into the church. Ribaut and Briquet stared at me in amazement. Evidently they did not know me, but the eyes of love were keener. “Pierre!” cried Nanette. “Oh, Pierre! And they told me you were dead!” “Really, M. le Curé,” sneered Ribaut, “one would say this was a theatre and not a church. What comedy is this? From what gutter did you drag that scoundrel?” “You have a short memory, it seems, M. Ribaut,” I retorted. “I did not think you would forget our last interview so quickly. I see that you still have the marks of it on your face.” He stared at me with eyes starting from his head. “So,” he murmured at last, “it is the lover!” and his eyes glittered with passion. “M. le Curé, you will not heed the ravings of such scoundrels?” The curé smiled dryly. “It appears you do not know this gentleman,” said he, glancing at d’Argenson. “No,” snarled Ribaut, “nor do I wish to know him.” “You may be interested, nevertheless,” went on the curé, “in knowing that it is M. le Comte d’Argenson, lieutenant of police.” “D’Argenson!” cried Ribaut, and I saw the blood struck from his face as by a blow. “D’Argenson! Very well,” he continued after a moment, vainly trying to steady his voice, as he saw that the game was lost. “This wedding, then, will not take place. I yield. But I am still this girl’s guardian, am I not, Monsieur?” “Yes, you are still her guardian,” assented d’Argenson. “And she is still under my control?” “In all things save that of this marriage.” “Very well,” cried Ribaut in a ferocious voice. “She will return home with me. Come, Mademoiselle,” and he grasped her by the arm and turned away. My brain was whirling as I saw Nanette look piteously at me. I started after them to commit I know not what act of violence, but d’Argenson waved me back.