So strong was this suspicion that he hastened after her, determined to question her--to ascertain the truth--to arrest her, if necessary. But he no longer possessed the agility of youth, and when he reached the gateway the guard told him that Mlle. Lacheneur had already passed out. He rushed out after her, looked about on every side, but could see no trace of her. He re-entered the citadel, furious with himself for his own credulity. “Still, I can visit Chanlouineau,” thought he, “and to-morrow will be time enough to summon this creature and question her.” “This creature” was even then hastening up the long, ill-paved street that led to the Hotel de France. Regardless of self, and of the curious gaze of a few passers-by, she ran on, thinking only of shortening the terrible anxiety which her friends at the hotel must be enduring. “All is not lost!” she exclaimed, on re-entering the room. “My God, Thou hast heard my prayers!” murmured the baroness. Then, suddenly seized by a horrible dread, she added: “Do not attempt to deceive me. Are you not trying to delude me with false hopes? That would be cruel!” “I am not deceiving you, Madame, Chanlouineau has given me a weapon, which, _I_ hope and believe, places the Duc de Sairmeuse in our power. He is omnipotent in Montaignac; the only man who could oppose him, Monsieur de Courtornieu, is his friend. I believe that Monsieur d’Escorval can be saved.” “Speak!” cried Maurice; “what must we do?” “Pray and wait, Maurice. I must act alone in this matter, but be assured that I--the cause of all your misfortune--will leave nothing undone which is possible for mortal to do.” Absorbed in the task which she had imposed upon herself, Marie-Anne had failed to remark a stranger who had arrived during her absence--an old white-haired peasant. The abbe called her attention to him. “Here is a courageous friend,” said he, “who since morning, has been searching for you everywhere, in, order to give you news of your father.” Marie-Anne was so overcome that she could scarcely falter her gratitude. “Oh, you need not thank me,” answered the brave peasant. “I said to myself: ‘The poor girl must be terribly anxious. I ought to relieve her of her misery.’ So I came to tell you that Monsieur Lacheneur is safe and well, except for a wound in the leg, which causes him considerable suffering, but which will be healed in two or three weeks. My son-in-law, who was hunting yesterday in the mountains, met him near the frontier in company with two of his friends. By this time he must be in Piedmont, beyond the reach of the gendarmes.” “Let us hope now,” said the abbe, “that we shall soon hear what has become of Jean.” “I know, already, Monsieur,” responded Marie-Anne; “my brother has been badly wounded, and he is now under the protection of kind friends.” She bowed her head, almost crushed beneath her burden of sorrow, but soon rallying, she exclaimed: