Louise resumed:--"I asked M. Ferrand by what means I could conceal my shame. Interrupting me with indignation, and a feigned surprise, he pretended not to understand me; he asked me if I were mad; frightened, I cried, 'But, my God, what do you wish to become of me now? If you have no pity on me, have at least some pity on your child!' 'What a horror!' cried he, raising his hands toward heaven. 'How, wretch! You have the audacity to accuse me of being corrupt enough to descend to a girl of your class! you have effrontery enough to accuse me!--I, who have a hundred times repeated before the most respectable witnesses that you would be ruined, vile wanton. Leave my house this moment--I thrust you from my door.'" Rudolph and Morel remained horror-struck; such atrocity overpowered them. "Oh! I confess," said Rudolph, "this passes all conception." Morel said nothing; his eyes became enlarged in a fearful manner: a convulsive spasm contracted his features; he descended from the bench where he was seated, opened quickly a drawer, and took out a strong, very sharp, file, with a wooden handle, and rushed toward the door. Rudolph, divining his thoughts, seized him by the arm and stopped him. "Morel, where are you going? You will ruin yourself, unfortunate man." "Take care!" cried the artisan, furiously struggling; "I shall commit two crimes instead of one!" and the madman threatened Rudolph. "Father, it is our savior!" cried Louise. "He is mocking us! bah, bah! he wishes to save the notary!" answered Morel, completely wild, and contending with Rudolph. At the end of a second, he succeeded in disarming him, opened the door, and threw the instrument on the staircase. Louise ran to the artisan, held him in her arms, and said, "Father, he is our benefactor; you have raised your hand on him; come to yourself." These words recalled Morel to himself; he covered his face with his hands, and, without saying a word, he fell at Rudolph's feet. "Rise, unfortunate father!" said Rudolph kindly. "Patience, patience; I understand your fury, I partake of your hatred; but, in the name even of your vengeance, do not compromise it." "Good heavens!" cried the artisan, raising himself up. "What can justice--law--do in such a case? Poor as we are, when we go and accuse the powerful, rich, and respected man, they will laugh in our face-- ah, ah, ah!" and he laughed convulsively. "And they will be right. Where are our proofs--yes, our proofs? They will not believe us. Therefore, I tell you," cried he, in another storm of madness, "I tell you I have no confidence but in the impartiality of the knife!" "Silence, Morel; grief makes you wander," said Rudolph suddenly. "Let your daughter speak; moments are precious--the magistrate waits; I must know all--I tell you, all. Continue, my child."