This is indeed, a terrible ordeal, and requires an amount of resolution and energy which few human beings possess. The boldest hesitate before such a sacrifice, and many a man has surrendered himself to justice rather than resort to this last extremity. And yet this was what Pascal Ferailleur had the courage to do, on the morrow of the shameful conspiracy that had deprived him of his good name. When his mother’s exhortations and Baron Trigault’s encouraging words had restored his wonted clearness of perception, the only course he felt disposed to pursue was to disappear and fly from the storm of slander and contempt; and then, in a secure hiding-place, to watch for the time and opportunity of rehabilitation and revenge. Madame Ferailleur and her son made all needful arrangements. “I shall start out at once,” said Pascal, “and before two hours have elapsed I shall have found a modest lodging, where we must conceal ourselves for the present. I know a locality that will suit us, and where no one will certainly ever think of looking for us.” “And I,” asked Madame Ferailleur, “what shall I do in the meantime?” “You, mother; you must, at once, sell all that we possess here--everything--even my books. You will only keep such of our linen and clothes as you can pack in three or four trunks. We are undoubtedly watched; and so it is of the utmost importance that every one should imagine I have left Paris, and that you are going to join me.” “And when everything is sold, and my trunks are ready?” “Then, mother, you must send some one for a cab, and order the driver to take you to the Western Railway Station, where you will have the trunks removed from the cab and placed in the baggage-room, as if you did not intend to leave Paris till the next day.” “Very good, I will do so; even if any one is watching us, he won’t be likely to suspect this ruse. But afterward?” “Afterward, mother, you must go to the waiting-room upstairs, and you will find me there. I will then take you to the rooms I shall have rented, and to-morrow we’ll send a messenger with the receipt the railway people will give you, to fetch our luggage for us.” Madame Ferailleur approved of this plan, deeming herself fortunate in this great calamity that despair had not destroyed her son’s energy and resources of mind. “Shall we retain our name, Pascal?” “Oh, no. That would be an unpardonable imprudence.” “What name shall we take, then? I must know, for they may ask me at the station.” He reflected for a moment and then said: “We’ll take your maiden name, mother. It will bring us good luck. Our new lodgings shall be hired in the name of the Widow Maumejan.”