“After infinite difficulty, after searching the whole globe,” continued Ferragus, “my friends have found me the skin of a dead man in which to take my place once more in social life. A few days hence, I shall be Monsieur de Funcal, a Portuguese count. Ah! my dear child, there are few men of my age who would have had the patience to learn Portuguese and English, which were spoken fluently by that devil of a sailor, who was drowned at sea.” “But, my dear father--” “All has been foreseen, and prepared. A few days hence, his Majesty John VI., King of Portugal will be my accomplice. My child, you must have a little patience where your father has had so much. But ah! what would I not do to reward your devotion for the last three years,--coming religiously to comfort your old father, at the risk of your own peace!” “Father!” cried Clemence, taking his hands and kissing them. “Come, my child, have courage still; keep my fatal secret a few days longer, till the end is reached. Jules is not an ordinary man, I know; but are we sure that his lofty character and his noble love may not impel him to dislike the daughter of a--” “Oh!” cried Clemence, “you have read my heart; I have no other fear than that. The very thought turns me to ice,” she added, in a heart-rending tone. “But, father, think that I have promised him the truth in two hours.” “If so, my daughter, tell him to go to the Portuguese embassy and see the Comte de Funcal, your father. I will be there.” “But Monsieur de Maulincour has told him of Ferragus. Oh, father, what torture, to deceive, deceive, deceive!” “Need you say that to me? But only a few days more, and no living man will be able to expose me. Besides, Monsieur de Maulincour is beyond the faculty of remembering. Come, dry your tears, my silly child, and think--” At this instant a terrible cry rang from the room in which Jules Desmarets was stationed. The clamor was heard by Madame Jules and Ferragus through the opening of the wall, and struck them with terror. “Go and see what it means, Clemence,” said her father. Clemence ran rapidly down the little staircase, found the door into Madame Gruget’s apartment wide open, heard the cries which echoed from the upper floor, went up the stairs, guided by the noise of sobs, and caught these words before she entered the fatal chamber:-- “You, monsieur, you, with your horrid inventions,--you are the cause of her death!” “Hush, miserable woman!” replied Jules, putting his handkerchief on the mouth of the old woman, who began at once to cry out, “Murder! help!” At this instant Clemence entered, saw her husband, uttered a cry, and fled away. “Who will save my child?” cried the widow Gruget. “You have murdered her.” “How?” asked Jules, mechanically, for he was horror-struck at being seen by his wife. “Read that,” said the old woman, giving him a letter. “Can money or annuities console me for that?”