“She has gone away with your friend; he was here a moment ago, but has gone back again; doubtless they are in the guard-room. Shall I show you the way, madame?” “No. Bring them to me here—my daughter and my friend.” Christopher went out, glad to leave the woman whose very presence terrified him. He found Marguerite just coming out of her fainting fit, and besought her to go down and persuade her mother to leave the dungeon. Marguerite arose, shuddering at the thought of going down those horrible passages again; but she gathered up her strength, and half supported, half-carried by Monsieur Jacques, moved away into the darkness. “Come hither! Come hither, my child! it is your father who speaks. It is he who asks us with those mute lips to avenge his murder. Kneel down, my child—kneel down, my friend. It is he who commands it. It is the dead who speaks.” Awed by her words, and the deep solemnity of her manner, Marguerite sunk upon her knees and touched the cold hand of her mother that lay upon the dead man’s forehead. Marguerite felt the chill strike through her fingers, but she was brave, and did not once attempt to draw back. Madame Gosner turned her eyes upon Jacques; he, too, knelt and bent over the dead. Madame Gosner lifted her right hand, “Listen, oh, my God! here, in this awful place, and in the presence of my dead, I swear, that I will neither rest or take thought of any other thing, until the place in which my husband met his slow murder is razed to the ground, and those who slew him are brought to justice. This child in her innocence, this man in his strength, shall bear witness to my oath.” The woman arose slowly to her feet as she spoke, her hand still uplifted, her finger pointed heavenward, the fire of a terrible resolve burned in her eyes; her lips were set, her form dilated. She turned to the guard, commanding him like a sibyl. “Bring men hither who shall carry forth my dead. The people of Paris must know how innocent men can be tortured out of their lives. Send two of your guards. I will not leave the dungeon save with him.” “It cannot be, madame. The king’s order demands the living body of Doctor Gosner. It is not here. The man who died was a prisoner, and as such he must be buried. This is the law.” “But I, his wife, having the king’s order, command you.” “Hardly, if the king himself commanded, could I obey him, for even he must bow to the law.” “Even he and his myrmidons shall bow to that stronger and grander power than kings—the people!” she exclaimed; and turning to the dead man, she took off her muslin scarf and laid it reverently over his face. “Stronger now than in his life,” she said, passing out of the dungeon with a firm step. “The last stone of this fortress shall be his monument, and the people of France shall build it for him.” CHAPTER XLIX. A WOMAN’S NATURE TRANSFORMED.