Of the five hundred men that composed it on its departure from Sairmeuse, only fifteen remained, including the two retired officers. Marie-Anne was in the centre of this little party. M. Lacheneur and his friends were trying to decide what course it was best for them to pursue. Should each man go his way? or should they unite, and by an obstinate resistance, give all their comrades time to reach their homes? The voice of Chanlouineau put an end to all hesitation. “I have come to fight,” he exclaimed, “and I shall sell my life dearly.” “We will make a stand then!” cried the others. But Chanlouineau did not follow them to the spot which they had considered best adapted to the prolonged defence; he called Maurice and drew him a little aside. “You, Monsieur d’Escorval,” he said, almost roughly, “are going to leave here and at once.” “I--I came here, Chanlouineau, as you did, to do my duty.” “Your duty, Monsieur, is to serve Marie-Anne. Go at once, and take her with you.” “I shall remain,” said Maurice, firmly. He was going to join his comrades when Chanlouineau stopped him. “You have no right to sacrifice your life here,” he said, quietly. “Your life belongs to the woman who has given herself to you.” “Wretch! how dare you!” Chanlouineau sadly shook his head. “What is the use of denying it?” said he. “It was so great a temptation that only an angel could have resisted it. It was not your fault, nor was it hers. Lacheneur was a bad father. There was a day when I wished either to kill myself or to kill you, I knew not which. Ah! only once again will you be as near death as you were that day. You were scarcely five paces from the muzzle of my gun. It was God who stayed my hand by reminding me of her despair. Now that I am to die, as well as Lacheneur, someone must care for Marie-Anne. Swear that you will marry her. You may be involved in some difficulty on account of this affair; but I have here the means of saving you.” A sound of firing interrupted him; the soldiers of the Duc de Sairmeuse were approaching. “Good God!” exclaimed Chanlouineau, “and Marie-Anne!” They rushed in pursuit of her, and Maurice was the first to discover her, standing in the centre of the open space clinging to the neck of her father’s horse. He took her in his arms, trying to drag her away. “Come!” said he, “come!” But she refused. “Leave me, leave me!” she entreated. “But all is lost!” “Yes, I know that all is lost--even honor. Leave me here. I must remain; I must die, and thus hide my shame. I must, it shall be so!” Just then Chanlouineau appeared. Had he divined the secret of her resistance? Perhaps; but without uttering a word, he lifted her in his strong arms as if she had been a child and bore her to the carriage guarded by Abbe Midon. “Get in,” he said, addressing the priest, “and quick--take Mademoiselle Lacheneur. Now, Maurice, in your turn!”