The completion of the sacrifice was attained. They felt its poignancy with an almost physical sensation, and were hushed. An oppressive stillness followed, charged with melancholy. In the midst of it the maid came into the room, which had now grown quite dark. She had some trouble to see where her mistress was, her shadow was so merged in the darkness. “Miss Margaret,” she said. “What is it, Melanie?” “Those gentlemen have come.” “Oh! Did you show them into the office?” “Yes, miss.” “And Mr. Roquevillard has not come in yet?” “No, miss.” “Ask them to wait a few minutes. Mr. Roquevillard will be back soon.” The delay was becoming disquieting, however, to Margaret. Raymond Bercy was conscious of the fact that the girl’s thoughts were far from him. “Already!” he thought. Just now, at least, when she had gently put away his love, he had had a place in her thoughts and heart. Even the sorrow that she caused him brought him nearer to her, was dear because it came from her. He looked at her a last time, with despairing eyes, as if to measure the whole extent of his loss, and leave its impress on his memory. And realising that this was the end, he murmured: “Good-bye, Margaret.” She held out her hand to him. “Good-bye, dear friend. Go in peace. In my prayers each day I’ll join your name with my family’s. Do you want me to?” “I am grateful, Margaret. I had conceived a great hope, and I have shattered it myself.” “God willed it, and not you. May God guard you,” she answered gravely. He bent his head and went out. When she found herself alone she leaned her forehead on her hands a moment, then straightened up again. Then she went to her father’s office, and begged Mr. Hamel and Mr. Battard to be patient a few minutes longer. Finally, as anxiety swayed her more and more, and she was even getting ready to go out and search, she heard the key grating in the outer lock. She hurried toward the door. “Father, it’s you at last,” she cried. Mr. Roquevillard, who had walked fast, wiped away the perspiration that gathered on his forehead despite the cold. “Margaret, have those gentlemen come?” he asked. “Yes. They’re waiting for you.” “Good. I’ll go and see them.” In the lighted hall father and daughter found themselves face to face and were surprised at the change each noted in the other. From having left each other morally discouraged and fagged out, they were surprised now, each of them, to find on the other’s face a sort of victorious serenity over fear and sorrow, a spiritual illumination that made them firm and confident. The father had heard the call of the past rising to him from the depths of the eternal generations. The daughter had heard the voice of God. VI THE DEFENDER