But Chanlouineau scarcely heard her words. All the bitterness of the past was rising to his brain like fumes of alcohol; and he was scarcely conscious of what he said himself. “However, the day soon came,” he continued, “when my foolish illusions were destroyed. You could not be mine since you belonged to another. I might have broken my compact! I thought of doing so, but I did not have the courage. To see you, to hear your voice, to spend my time under the same roof as you, was happiness enough. I longed to see you happy and honoured; I fought for the triumph of another, for him you had chosen----” A sob rose in his throat and choked his utterance; he buried his face in his hands to hide his tears, and, for a moment, seemed completely overcome. But he mastered his weakness after a brief interval, and in a firm voice, exclaimed: “We must not linger any longer over the past. Time flies, and the future is ominous.” As he spoke, he went to the door and applied first his eyes and then his ear to the grating, to see that there were no spies outside. But he could perceive no one, nor could he hear a sound. He came back to Marie-Anne’s side, and tearing the sleeve of his jacket open with his teeth, he drew from the lining two letters, wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth. “Here,” he said, in a low voice, “is a man’s life!” Marie-Anne knew nothing of Chanlouineau’s promises and hopes, and she was moreover so distressed by what the young farmer had previously said that at first she did not understand his meaning. All she could do was to repeat mechanically, “This is a man’s life!” “Hush speak lower!” interrupted Chanlouineau. “Yes, one of these letters might, perhaps, save the life of a prisoner now under sentence of death.” “Unfortunate man! Why do you not make use of it and save yourself?” The young farmer shook his head. “Would it ever be possible for you to love me?” he said. “No it wouldn’t be possible; and so what wish can I have to live? At least I shall be able to forget everything when I am underground. Moreover, I have been justly condemned. I knew what I was doing when I left La Reche with my gun over my shoulder, and my sword by my side; I have no right to complain. But these judges of ours have condemned an innocent man----” “The Baron d’Escorval?” “Yes--Maurice’s father!” His voice changed as he pronounced the name of his envied rival--envied, no doubt, and yet to assure this rival’s happiness and Marie-Anne’s he would have given ten lives had they been his to give. “I wish to save the baron,” he added, “and I can do so.” “Oh! if what you said were true? But you undoubtedly deceive yourself.”