The abbé was growing lively, for now, thanks to Clovis's ineptitude, he no longer played the ridiculous role. The marquis hoped to whitewash himself by steady lying at the expense of his more brilliant confederate. That should never be. None but a fool would have deemed such a _denouément_ possible. But for the advent of the new-comer, Pharamond might have stuck to his guns, and have adroitly wriggled out of the meshes of the law, delightfully pure and unsullied, though for a moment stained by calumny; for though the marquise had for some unaccountable reason recovered, there was nothing but her word for the absurd story of the goblet, sword, and pistol. Even had she died no trace of the herb would have been found. Mademoiselle Brunelle and the servants of the chateau would with one accord have sworn--as they aspired to an edifying end and a cosy seat in Heaven--that madame had suffered from a serious complaint, accompanied by delirious hallucination. That she was better now was in the nature of things, due partly to tenderest solicitude on the part of her affectionate family, and an additional proof, if any still were wanting, that the story of the poison was a dream. But Clovis, by his own dastardly and execrable meanness, had cut the ground from under the feet of the suspected trio; for the abbé had been goaded for once to forget himself and his own interests in order, with a pretty display of scornful protest, to inflict revenge upon another. In sober truth, the abbé felt outraged in his best feelings by the move of Clovis. Pharamond had confessed with easy nonchalance to an attempt of superior wickedness, and was rather flattered than otherwise by the silent horror depicted on the bovine countenances of the Seigneurie. They appeared to gaze, face to face, on the Satanic one, and were abashed by his unexpected propinquity. It was time the painful scene should end, for nothing could come of it but unworthy recrimination. Two had freely and publicly confessed, the third stood cowering like a beaten hound that dares not even whine. In every curved line of his bent figure there was confession. The baron observed gravely to the company assembled, "We are responsible, gentlemen, for the guarding of these persons, till they can be safely removed to Blois. For the present, if you please, we will lock them in the dining-hall, as the strongest and safest room." "By all means," exclaimed the abbé, heartily, "and I hope there will be something on the board. The good baron was always hospitable. Owing to press of _business_, hem! I had no time for breakfast, and vow I am plaguy hungry."