“It is just as I supposed,” said the medical man. “Believe me, Monsieur Dubois, you must not tarry here. What I have discovered others will discover as well. And, above everything, don’t warn the hotel-keeper of your departure. He has not been deceived by your explanation. Self-interest alone has kept his mouth shut. He has seen your money, and so long as you spend it at his house he will hold his tongue; but if he discovers that you are going away, he will probably betray you.” “Ah! sir, but how is it possible for us to leave this place?” “In two days the young lady will be on her feet again,” interrupted the physician. “And take my advice. At the next village, stop and give your name to Mademoiselle Lacheneur.” “Ah! sir,” exclaimed Maurice, “have you considered the advice you offer me? How can I, a proscribed man--a man condemned to death perhaps--how can I obtain, how can I display the proofs of identity necessary for marriage.” “Excuse me,” observed the physician shaking his head, “but you are no longer in France, Monsieur d’Escorval, you are in Piedmont.” “Another difficulty!” “No, because in this country, people marry, or at least they can marry, without all the formalities that cause you so much anxiety.” “Is it possible?” exclaimed Maurice. “Yes, if you can find a consenting priest, when he has inscribed your name on his parish register and given you a certificate, you will be so undoubtedly married, Mademoiselle Lacheneur and yourself, that the court of Rome would never grant you a divorce.” “That may be,” said Maurice hesitatingly, “but how could I find a priest----” The physician was silent, and it might have been supposed he was blaming himself for meddling with matters that did not concern him. Suddenly, however, he abruptly said: “Listen to me attentively, Monsieur d’Escorval. I am about to take my leave, but before I go, I shall find occasion to recommend your wife to take as much exercise as possible--I will do this in the landlord’s presence. Consequently, on the day after to-morrow, Wednesday, you must hire mules, and you, Mademoiselle Lacheneur and your old friend, the soldier, must start from the hotel as if you were going on a pleasure excursion. You will push on to Vigano, three leagues from here, where I live. Then I will take you to a priest, one of my friends; and upon my recommendation, he will perform the marriage ceremony. Now, reflect, shall I expect you on Wednesday?” “Oh, yes, yes. How can I ever thank you sufficiently?” “By not thanking me at all. See, here is the innkeeper; you are M. Dubois, again.”