“In less than an hour,” continued the priest, “the soldiers sent in pursuit of the fugitives will be here. Not a word must be uttered in regard to what has passed this evening. Everyone must be led to suppose that I went away with the baron and returned alone. Not one of you must have seen Mademoiselle Lacheneur. We are going to find a place of concealment for her. Remember, my friends, if there is the slightest suspicion of her presence here, all is lost. If the soldiers question you, endeavor to convince them that Monsieur Maurice has not left the house this evening.” He paused, trying to think if he had forgotten any precaution that human prudence could suggest, then added: “One word more; to see you standing about at this hour of the night will awaken suspicion at once. But this is what I desire. We will plead in justification, the alarm that you feel at the absence of the baron, and also the indisposition of madame--for madame is going to retire--she will thus escape interrogation. And you, Maurice, run and change your clothes; and, above all, wash your hands, and sprinkle some perfume upon them.” All present were so impressed with the imminence of the danger, that they were more than willing to obey the priest’s orders. Marie-Anne, as soon as she could be moved, was carried to a tiny room under the roof. Mme. d’Escorval retired to her own apartment, and the servants went back to the office. Maurice and the abbe remained alone in the drawing-room, silent and appalled by horrible forebodings. The unusually calm face of the priest betrayed his terrible anxiety. He now felt convinced that Baron d’Escorval was a prisoner, and all his efforts were now directed toward removing any suspicion of complicity from Maurice. “This was,” he reflected, “the only way to save the father.” A violent peal of the bell attached to the gate interrupted his meditations. He heard the footsteps of the gardener as he hastened to open it, heard the gate turn upon its hinges, then the measured tramp of soldiers in the court-yard. A loud voice commanded: “Halt!” The priest looked at Maurice and saw that he was as pale as death. “Be calm,” he entreated; “do not be alarmed. Do not lose your self-possession--and do not forget my instructions.” “Let them come,” replied Maurice. “I am prepared!” The drawing-room door was flung violently open, and a young man, wearing the uniform of a captain of grenadiers, entered. He was scarcely twenty-five years of age, tall, fair-haired, with blue eyes and little waxed mustache. His whole person betokened an excessive elegance exaggerated to the verge of the ridiculous. His face ordinarily must have indicated extreme self-complacency; but at the present moment it wore a really ferocious expression. Behind him, in the passage, were a number of armed soldiers. He cast a suspicious glance around the room, then, in a harsh voice: “Who is the master of this house?” he demanded.