About a hundred of the bravest and most determined of the conspirators gathered round Lacheneur. In the midst of the little crowd was the Abbe Midon with a gloomy and despondent countenance. He had been separated from the baron, of whose fate he was ignorant. Had M. d’Escorval been killed or taken prisoner? or was it possible that he had made his escape? The worthy priest dared not return home. He waited, hoping that his companion might rejoin him, and deemed himself fortunate in finding the baron’s cabriolet still standing at a corner of the open space, formed by the four cross roads. He was still waiting when the remnant of the column confided to Maurice and Chanlouineau came up. Of the five hundred men that composed this troop on its departure from Sairmeuse, only fifteen remained, including the two retired officers, who had escaped from Montaignac, and brought Lacheneur intelligence that the conspiracy was discovered. Marie-Anne was in the centre of this little party. Her father and his friends were trying to decide what course should be pursued. Should each man go his own way? or should they unite, and by an obstinate resistance, give their comrades time to reach their homes? Chanlouineau’s voice put an end to the hesitation. “I have come to fight,” he exclaimed, “and I shall sell my life dearly.” “We will make a stand then!” cried the others. But Chanlouineau did not immediately follow them to the spot they considered best adapted for a prolonged defence; he called Maurice and drew him a little aside. “You must leave us at once M. d’Escorval,” he said, in a rough voice. “I--I came here, Chanlouineau, as you did, to do my duty.” “Your duty, sir, is to serve Marie-Anne. Go at once, and take her with you.” “I shall remain,” said Maurice firmly. He was going to join his comrades when Chanlouineau stopped him. “You have no right to sacrifice your life here,” he said quickly. “It belongs to the woman who has given herself to you.” “Wretch! how dare you--” Chanlouineau sadly shook his head. “What is the use of denying it?” said he. “It was so great a temptation that only an angel could have resisted it. It was not your fault, nor was it hers. Lacheneur was a bad father. There was a day when I wanted either to kill myself or to kill you, I didn’t know which. Ah! you certainly were near death that day. You were scarcely five paces from the muzzle of my gun. It was God who stayed my hand by reminding me what her despair would be. But now that I have to die, and Lacheneur as well, some one must take care of Marie-Anne. Swear that you will marry her. You may be involved in some difficulty on account of this affair; but I have the means of saving you.” He was suddenly interrupted by a fusillade. The Duke de Sairmeuse’s soldiers were approaching. “Good heavens!” exclaimed Chanlouineau, “and Marie-Anne.”