“Yes it is I,” replied the young girl, doffing the large hat which had partially concealed her face; “I wish to share the dangers of those who are dear to me--share in their victory or their defeat. Your advice comes too late, gentlemen. Do you see those lights on the horizon? They tell us that the people of the province are repairing to the cross-roads at the Croix d’Arcy, our general meeting place. Before two o’clock fifteen hundred men will be gathered there awaiting my father’s commands. Would you have him leave these men, whom he has called from their peaceful firesides, without a leader? No, it is impossible!” She evidently shared her lover’s and her father’s madness, even if she did not share all their hopes. “No, there must be no more hesitation, no more parleying,” she continued. “Prudence now would be the height of folly. There is no more danger in a retreat than in an advance. Do not try to detain my father, gentlemen; each moment of delay may, perhaps, cost a man’s life. And now, my friends, forward!” A loud cheer answered her, and the little band descended the hill. But M. d’Escorval could not allow his own son, whom he now perceived in the ranks, to depart in this fashion: “Maurice!” he cried. The young fellow hesitated, but finally stepped forward. “You will not follow these madmen, Maurice?” said the baron. “I must follow them, father.” “I forbid it.” “Alas! father, I can’t obey you. I have promised--I have sworn. I am second in command.” If his voice had a mournful ring, plainly enough he was at all events determined. “My son!” exclaimed M. d’Escorval; “unfortunate boy! Don’t you know that you are marching to certain death?” “Then all the more reason, father, why I shouldn’t break my word.” “And your mother, Maurice, your mother whom you forget!” A tear glistened in the young fellow’s eye. “I am sure,” he replied, “that my mother would rather weep for her dead son than keep him near her dishonoured, and branded as a coward and a traitor. Farewell! father.” M. d’Escorval appreciated the nobility of mind which Maurice’s conduct implied. He opened his arms, and pressed his son convulsively to his heart, feeling that it might be for the last time in life. “Farewell!” he faltered, “Farewell!” A minute later Maurice had rejoined his comrades, now on the plain below, leaving the baron standing motionless and overwhelmed with sorrow. Suddenly M. d’Escorval started from his reverie. “A single hope remains, abbe!” he cried. “Alas!” murmured the priest. “Oh--I am not mistaken. Marie-Anne just told us the place of rendezvous. By running to Escorval and harnessing the cabriolet, we might be able to reach the Croix d’Arcy before this party arrives there. Your voice, which touched Lacheneur, will touch the hearts of his accomplices. We will persuade these poor, misguided men to return home. Come, abbe; come quickly!” They tarried no longer, but swiftly descended towards the ferry. XIII.