"Ah, doctor, I am now well enough acquainted with Mlle. Dolores to be sure that she will die of grief if she is left in that convent, and believe me, sir, in the scene of this morning, that which most distresses me is not the scandal of which my poor house has been the theatre, but the thought of the sad future which is perhaps reserved for that unhappy child. And now that I know all, doctor, I am all the more troubled in thinking of the grave consequences that this abduction may entail upon your nephew." "I share your fears most keenly, my dear Madame Dupont. After a discovery that I have this morning made, I am afraid that a complaint has already been instituted against Horace; if it has not been it will be, to-day perhaps, for now that Dolores is again in the power of her uncle, if he can have my nephew arrested he will have nothing to fear from his love for Dolores. Ah, this arrest would be dreadful! Law is inflexible. My nephew went by night to a convent and abducted a minor. It is liable to infamous punishment, and for him that would be worse than death!" "Great God!" "And his brothers and sisters who love him so much! What sorrow for me,--for our family!" added the old man, with sadness. "But, sir, there ought to be something we can do to put a stop to this pursuit." "Ah, madame, dear Madame Dupont," replied the doctor, overcome with emotion, "I lose my head when I think of the terrible consequences which may result from this foolish adventure of a young man." "But what shall we do, doctor, what shall we do?" "Ah, do I know myself what to do, my poor Madame Dupont? I am going to reflect on the best course to pursue, but I am dealing with such a powerful adversary that I dare not hope for success." And Doctor Gasterini left the Faubourg Poissonnière in a state of inexpressible anxiety. CHAPTER VI. The day after Dolores Salcedo had been taken back to the convent, the following scene took place in the home of the canon, Dom Diégo, who lodged in a comfortable apartment engaged for him before his arrival by Abbé Ledoux. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. Dom Diégo, reclining in a large armchair, seemed to be assailed by gloomy thoughts. He was a large man of fifty years, and of enormous obesity; his fat, bloated cheeks mingled with his quadruple chin, his dingy skin was rough and flabby, and revealed the weakness of the inert mass. His features were not wanting in a kind of good-humour, when they were not under the domination of some disagreeable idea. His large mouth and thick, hanging under-lip denoted sensuality. With half-closed eyes under his heavy gray eyebrows, and hands crossed upon his Falstaff stomach, whose vast rotundity was outlined beneath a violet-coloured morning-gown, the canon sighed from time to time in a mournful and despondent tone.