“You, Monsieur!” exclaimed Lacheneur, in tones of the most lively affection, “you! ah! you know it well! You are the best, the only friends, I have here below. I should be the basest and the most miserable of men if I did not guard the recollection of all your kindnesses until my eyes close in death. Yes, you are my friends; yes, I am devoted to you--and it is for that very reason that I answer: no, no, never!” There could no longer be any doubt. M. d’Escorval seized Lacheneur’s hands, and almost crushing them in his grasp: “Unfortunate man!” he exclaimed, hoarsely, “what do you intend to do? Of what terrible vengeance are you dreaming?” “I swear to you----” “Oh! do not swear. You cannot deceive a man of my age and of my experience. I divine your intentions--you hate the Sairmeuse family more mortally than ever.” “I?” “Yes, you; and if you pretend to forget it, it is only that they may forget it. These people have offended you too cruelly not to fear you; you understand this, and you are doing all in your power to reassure them. You accept their advances--you kneel before them--why? Because they will be more completely in your power when you have lulled their suspicions to rest, and then you can strike them more surely----” He paused; the communicating door opened, and Marie-Anne appeared upon the threshold. “Father,” said she, “here is the Marquis de Sairmeuse.” This name, which Marie-Anne uttered in a voice of such perfect composure, in the midst of this excited discussion, possessed such a powerful significance, that M. d’Escorval stood as if petrified. “He dares to come here!” he thought. “How can it be that he does not fear the walls will fall and crush him?” M. Lacheneur cast a withering glance at his daughter. He suspected her of a ruse which would force him to reveal his secret. For a second, the most furious passion contracted his features. But, by a prodigious effort of will, he succeeded in regaining his composure. He sprang to the door, pushed Marie-Anne aside, and leaning out, he said: “Deign to excuse me, Monsieur, if I take the liberty of asking you to wait a moment; I am just finishing some business, and I will be with you in a moment.” Neither agitation nor anger could be detected in his voice; but, rather, a respectful deference, and a feeling of profound gratitude. Having said this, he closed the door and turned to M. d’Escorval. The baron, still standing with folded arms, had witnessed this scene with the air of a man who distrusts the evidence of his own senses; and yet he understood the meaning of it only too well. “So this young man comes here?” he said to Lacheneur. “Almost every day--not at this hour, usually, but a trifle later.” “And you receive him? you welcome him?”