The priest at Vigano blessed the marriage of Maurice d’Escorval and of Marie-Anne Lacheneur, and after inscribing their names upon the church register, he gave them a certificate, upon which the physician and Corporal Bavois figured as witnesses. That same evening the mules were sent back to Saliente, and the fugitives resumed their journey. Abbe Midon had counselled them to reach Turin as quickly as possible. “It is a large city,” he said; “you will be lost in the crowd. I have more than one friend there, whose name and address are upon this paper. Go to them, and in that way I will try to send you news of your father.” So it was toward Turin that Maurice, Marie-Anne, and Corporal Bavois directed their steps. But their progress was very slow, for they were obliged to avoid frequented roads, and renounce the ordinary modes of transportation. The fatigue of travel, instead of exhausting Marie-Anne, seemed to revive her. After five or six days the color came back to her cheek and her strength returned. “Fate seems to have relaxed her rigor,” said Maurice, one day. “Who knows what compensations the future may have in store for us!” No, fate had not taken pity upon them; it was only a short respite granted by destiny. One lovely April morning the fugitives stopped for breakfast at an inn on the outskirts of a large city. Maurice having finished his repast was just leaving the table to settle with the hostess, when a despairing cry arrested him. Marie-Anne, deadly pale, and with eyes staring wildly at a paper which she held in her hand, exclaimed in frenzied tones: “Here! Maurice! Look!” It was a French journal about a fortnight old, which had probably been left there by some traveller. Maurice seized it and read: “Yesterday, Lacheneur, the leader of the revolt in Montaignac, was executed. The miserable mischief-maker exhibited upon the scaffold the audacity for which he has always been famous.” “My father has been put to death!” cried Marie-Anne, “and I--his daughter--was not there to receive his last farewell!” She rose, and in an imperious voice: “I will go no farther,” she said; “we must turn back now without losing an instant. I wish to return to France.” To return to France was to expose themselves to frightful peril. What good would it do? Was not the misfortune irreparable? So Corporal Bavois suggested, very timidly. The old soldier trembled at the thought that they might suspect him of being afraid. But Maurice would not listen. He shuddered. It seemed to him that Baron d’Escorval must have been discovered and arrested at the same time that Lacheneur was captured. “Yes, let us start at once on our return!” he exclaimed. They immediately procured a carriage to convey them to the frontier. One important question, however, remained to be decided. Should Maurice and Marie-Anne make their marriage public? She wished to do so, but Maurice entreated her, with tears in his eyes, to conceal it.