“By the back stairs I shall have time to get away. It is my last chance! Keep the man for five minutes only.” “And if the door is guarded?” asked Madame Desvarennes. Serge remained abject before her. He felt himself enclosed in a ring which he could not break through. “One may be prosecuted without being condemned,” he gasped. “You will use your influence, I know, and you will get me out of this mess. I shall be grateful to you for ever, and will do anything you like! But don’t leave me, it would be cowardly!” He trembled, as he thus besought her distractedly. “The son-in-law of Madame Desvarennes does not go before the Assize Courts even to be acquitted,” said she, with a firm voice. “What would you have me do?” cried Serge, passionately. Madame Desvarennes did not answer, but pointed to the revolver on the table. “Kill myself? Ah! no; that would be giving you too much pleasure.” And he gave the weapon a push, so that it rolled close to Madame Desvarennes. “Ah! wretch!” cried she, giving way to her suppressed rage. “You are not even a Panine! The Panines knew how to die.” “I have not time to act a melodrama with you,” snarled Serge. “I am going to try to save myself.” And he took a step toward the door. The mistress seized the revolver, and threw herself before him. “You shall not go out!” she cried. “Are you mad?” he exclaimed, gnashing his teeth. “You shall not go out!” repeated the mistress, with flashing eyes. “We shall see!” And with a strong arm he seized Madame Desvarennes, and threw her aside. The mistress became livid. Serge had his hand on the handle of the door. He was about to escape. Madame Desvarennes’s arm was stretched forth. A shot made the windows rattle; the weapon fell from her hand, having done its work and, amid the smoke, a body dropped heavily on the carpet, which was soon dyed with blood. At the same moment, the door opened, and Micheline entered, holding in her hand the fatal receipt which she had just wrung from Cayrol. The young wife uttered a heartrending cry, and fell senseless on Serge’s body. Behind Micheline came the officer and Marechal. The secretary exchanged looks with the mistress, who was lifting her fainting daughter and clasping her in her arms. He understood all. Turning toward his companion, he said: “Alas! sir, here is a sad matter! The Prince, on hearing that you had come, took fright, although his fault was not very serious, and has shot himself.” The officer bowed respectfully to the mistress, who was bending over Micheline. “Please to withdraw, Madame. You have already suffered too much,” said he. “I understand your legitimate grief. If I need any information, this gentleman will give it to me.” Madame Desvarennes arose, and, without bending under the burden, she bore away on her bosom her daughter, regained. ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: