“Let me get my breath!” She was almost gasping. “Jane gave me such a fright that my heart is in my mouth.” He set a chair for her, and seated himself near, waiting till she should be able to speak. “You had better shake the snow off your cloak,” he said. She made a gesture of impatient refusal. The rude mantle had slipped aside, and revealed a strangely contrasting toilet beneath. There was a shining of lustrous pale‐green silk with delicately‐wrought laces, a glimmer of emeralds and diamonds, and glimpses of pink roses set in bunches of green grass. “I have been to the prison,” she whispered. F. Chevreuse frowned, and dropped his eyes. “The man is a fool!” she exclaimed. “He will not be saved. I had bought one of the guard. It was the hour for supper, and the man let me in, and promised that for ten minutes I might do as I pleased, and he would see and know nothing. I went into the corridor, and found the cell‐door unlocked. Everything was ready, was perfect; for the storm would prevent any loungers from coming about the prison or the guard‐room, and would give an excuse to any one who wanted to muffle up and cover their face. I had a large cloak all ready. But he would not go. He will not fly as though he were guilty, he said.” “What did you say to him?” the priest inquired, without looking up. “I told him that he could save himself, and prove his innocence afterward. I said that may be the real criminal would some day confess, and then he could come out before the world more than justified. I said that we loved and pitied him, and were unhappy at the thought of him there, and would do anything for him. He was to be secreted in our house till a way could be got for him to escape. I had left the carriage just round the corner, and John would have thought that it was Lawrence who got in with me. Mamma and Louis have gone to the President’s dinner, and Gerald was to watch and let us in, and afterward come out again with me. But, no; the stubborn simpleton would not be saved. I went on my knees to him, and he was like a rock. Then the watchman knocked at the door, and I had to run. The other guard were coming in from their supper, and, if I hadn’t hid behind a door, they would have seen me face to face. Oh! why did he not consent?” She wrung her hands slowly till the jewels on them twinkled in the lamp‐ light. F. Chevreuse still sat with his eyes downcast. “My poor child!” he said, “your pity for this man has led you into an almost fatal error. Never attempt such a thing again. It is not for you to cast yourself under the wheels of Juggernaut. I command you to try no such experiment again. Pray to God. That is all that you can do.” “Yes, I know that now,” she answered despairingly. “I am utterly helpless. It is your turn. You must save him.”