“You are right,” faltered Maurice. “When Marie-Anne knew that her life was in danger, she could not have forgotten her little one. Those who cared for her in her last moments must have received some message for me. I must see those who watched over her. Who were they?” The priest averted his face. “I asked you who was with her when she died,” repeated Maurice, in a sort of frenzy. And, as the abbe remained silent, a terrible light dawned on the young fellow’s mind. He understood the cause of Marie-Anne’s distorted features now. “She perished the victim of a crime!” he exclaimed. “Some monster killed her. If she died such a death, our child is lost for ever! And it was I who recommended, who commanded the greatest precautions! Ah! we are all of us cursed!” He sank back in his chair, overwhelmed with sorrow and remorse, and with big tears rolling slowly down his cheeks. “He is saved!” thought the abbe, whose heart bled at the sight of such intense sorrow. Jean Lacheneur stood by the priest’s side with gloom upon his face. Suddenly he drew the Abbe Midon towards one of the windows: “What is this about a child?” he enquired, harshly. The priest’s face flushed. “You have heard,” he answered, laconically. “Am I to understand that Marie-Anne was Maurice’s mistress, and that she had a child by him? Is that the case? I won’t, I can’t believe it! She whom I revered as a saint! What! you would have me believe that her eyes lied--her eyes so chaste, so pure? And he--Maurice--he whom I loved as a brother! So his friendship was only a cloak which he assumed so as to rob us of our honour!” Jean hissed these words through his set teeth in such low tones that Maurice, absorbed in his agony of grief, did not overhear him. “But how did she conceal her shame?” he continued. “No one suspected it--absolutely no one. And what has she done with her child? Did the thought of disgrace frighten her? Did she follow the example of so many ruined and forsaken women? Did she murder her own child? Ah, if it be alive I will find it, and in any case Maurice shall be punished for his perfidy as he deserves.” He paused; the window was open, and the sound of galloping horses could be plainly heard approaching along the adjacent highway. Both Jean and the abbe leant forward and looked out. Two horsemen were riding toward the Borderie--the first some ten yards in advance of the other. The former halted at the corner of the garden path, threw his reins to his follower--a groom--and then strode on foot toward the house. On recognizing this visitor, Jean bounded from the window with a yell. He clutched Maurice by the shoulders, and, shaking him violently, exclaimed, “Up! here comes Martial, Marie-Anne’s murderer! Up! he is coming! He is at our mercy!”