After Dark

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER 1.

  On a spring morning, in the year seventeen hundred and ninety-eight, thepublic conveyance then running between Chalons-sur-Marne and Paris satdown one of its outside passengers at the first post-station beyondMeaux. The traveler, an old man, after looking about him hesitatinglyfor a moment or two, betook himself to a little inn opposite thepost-house, known by the sign of the Piebald Horse, and kept by theWidow Duval--a woman who enjoyed and deserved the reputation of beingthe fastest talker and the best maker of _gibelotte_ in the wholelocality.

  Although the traveler was carelessly noticed by the village idlers,and received without ceremony by the Widow Duval, he was by no means soordinary and uninteresting a stranger as the rustics of the place werepleased to consider him. The time had been when this quiet, elderly,unobtrusive applicant for refreshment at the Piebald House was trustedwith the darkest secrets of the Reign of Terror, and was admitted atall times and seasons to speak face to face with Maximilian Robespierrehimself. The Widow Duval and the hangers-on in front of the post-housewould have been all astonished indeed if any well-informed personagefrom the metropolis had been present to tell them that the modest oldtraveler with the shabby little carpet-bag was an ex-chief agent of thesecret police of Paris!

  Between three and four years had elapsed since Lomaque had exercised,for the last time, his official functions under the Reign of Terror.His shoulders had contracted an extra stoop, and his hair had all fallenoff, except at the sides and back of his head. In some other respects,however, advancing age seemed to have improved rather than deterioratedhim in personal appearance. His complexion looked healthier, hisexpression cheerfuller, his eyes brighter than they had ever been oflate years. He walked, too, with a brisker step than the step of oldtimes in the police office; and his dress, although it certainly did notlook like the costume of a man in affluent circumstances, was cleanerand far more nearly worn than ever it had been in the past days of hispolitical employment at Paris.

  He sat down alone in the inn parlor, and occupied the time, while hishostess had gone to fetch the half-bottle of wine that he ordered, inexamining a dirty old card which he extricated from a mass of papers inhis pocket-book, and which bore, written on it, these lines:

  "When the troubles are over, do not forget those who remember you witheternal gratitude. Stop at the first post-station beyond Meaux, on thehigh-road to Paris, and ask at the inn for Citizen Maurice, whenever youwish to see us or to hear of us again."

  "Pray," inquired Lomaque, putting the card in his pocket when the WidowDuval brought in the wine, "can you inform me whether a person namedMaurice lives anywhere in this neighborhood?"

  "Can I inform you?" repeated the voluble widow. "Of course I can!Citizen Maurice, and the citoyenne, his amiable sister--who is not to bepassed over because you don't mention her, my honest man--lives withinten minutes' walk of my house. A charming cottage, in a charmingsituation, inhabited by two charming people--so quiet, so retiring,such excellent pay. I supply them with everything--fowls, eggs, bread,butter, vegetables (not that they eat much of anything), wine (whichthey don't drink half enough of to do them good); in short, I victualthe dear little hermitage, and love the two amiable recluses with allmy heart. Ah! they have had their troubles, poor people, the sisterespecially, though they never talk about them. When they first came tolive in our neighborhood--"

  "I beg pardon, citoyenne, but if you would only be so kind as to directme--"

  "Which is three--no, four--no, three years and a half ago--in short,just after the time when that Satan of a man, Robespierre, had his headcut off (and serve him right!), I said to my husband (who was on hislast legs then, poor man!) 'She'll die'--meaning the lady. She didn'tthough. My fowls, eggs, bread, butter, vegetables, and wine carried herthrough--always in combination with the anxious care of Citizen Maurice.Yes, yes! let us be tenderly conscientious in giving credit wherecredit is due; let us never forget that the citizen Maurice contributedsomething to the cure of the interesting invalid, as well as thevictuals and drink from the Piebald Horse. There she is now, theprettiest little woman in the prettiest little cottage--"

  "Where? Will you be so obliging as to tell me where?"

  "And in excellent health, except that she is subject now and then tonervous attacks; having evidently, as I believe, been struck with somedreadful fright--most likely during that accursed time of the Terror;for they came from Paris--you don't drink, honest man! Why don't youdrink? Very, very pretty in a pale way; figure perhaps too thin--let mepour it out for you--but an angel of gentleness, and attached in such atouching way to the citizen Maurice--"

  "Citizen hostess, will you, or will you not, tell me where they live?"

  "You droll little man, why did you not ask me that before, if you wantedto know? Finish your wine, and come to the door. There's your change,and thank you for your custom, though it isn't much. Come to the door, Isay, and don't interrupt me! You're an old man--can you see forty yardsbefore you? Yes, you can! Don't be peevish--that never did anybody anygood yet. Now look back, along the road where I am pointing. You seea large heap of stones? Good. On the other side of the heap of stonesthere is a little path; you can't see that, but you can remember what Itell you? Good. You go down the path till you get to a stream; downthe stream till you get to a bridge; down the other bank of the stream(after crossing the bridge) till you get to an old water-mill--a jewelof a water-mill, famous for miles round; artists from the four quartersof the globe are always coming to sketch it. Ah! what, you are gettingpeevish again? You won't wait? Impatient old man, what a life your wifemust lead, if you have got one! Remember the bridge. Ah! your poor wifeand children, I pity them; your daughters especially! Pst! pst! Rememberthe bridge--peevish old man, remember the bridge!"

  Walking as fast as he could out of hearing of the Widow Duval's tongue,Lomaque took the path by the heap of stones which led out of thehigh-road, crossed the stream, and arrived at the old water-mill. Closeby it stood a cottage--a rough, simple building, with a strip of gardenin front. Lomaque's observant eyes marked the graceful arrangement ofthe flower-beds, and the delicate whiteness of the curtains that hungbehind the badly-glazed narrow windows. "This must be the place," hesaid to himself, as he knocked at the door with his stick. "I can seethe traces of her hand before I cross the threshold."

  The door was opened. "Pray, does the citizen Maurice--" Lomaque began,not seeing clearly, for the first moment, in the dark little passage.

  Before he could say any more his hand was grasped, his carpet-bag wastaken from him, and a well-known voice cried, "Welcome! a thousandthousand times welcome, at last! Citizen Maurice is not at home; butLouis Trudaine takes his place, and is overjoyed to see once more thebest and dearest of his friends!"

  "I hardly know you again. How you are altered for the better!" exclaimedLomaque, as they entered the parlor of the cottage.

  "Remember that you see me after a long freedom from anxiety. Since Ihave lived here, I have gone to rest at night, and have not been afraidof the morning," replied Trudaine. He went out into the passage whilehe spoke, and called at the foot of the one flight of stairs which thecottage possessed, "Rose! Rose! come down! The friend whom you mostwished to see has arrived at last."

  She answered the summons immediately. The frank, friendly warmth of hergreeting; her resolute determination, after the first inquiries wereover, to help the guest to take off his upper coat with her own hands,so confused and delighted Lomaque, that he hardly knew which way toturn, or what to say.

  "This is even more trying, in a pleasant way, to a lonely old fellowlike me," he was about to add, "than the unexpected civility of the hotcup of coffee years ago"; but remembering what recollections even thattrifling circumstance might recall, he checked himself.

  "More trying than what?" asked Rose, leading him to a chair.

  "Ah! I forget. I am in my dotage already!" he answered, confusedly."I have not got used just yet to the pleasure of seeing your kindface again." It was indeed a pleasure to look
at that face now, afterLomaque's last experience of it. Three years of repose, though theyhad not restored to Rose those youthful attractions which she had lostforever in the days of the Terror, had not passed without leaving kindlyoutward traces of their healing progress. Though the girlish roundnesshad not returned to her cheeks, or the girlish delicacy of color to hercomplexion, her eyes had recovered much of their old softness, and herexpression all of its old winning charm. What was left of latent sadnessin her face, and of significant quietness in her manner, remained gentlyand harmlessly--remained rather to show what had been once than what wasnow.

  When they were all seated, there was, however, something like amomentary return to the suspense and anxiety of past days in theirfaces, as Trudaine, looking earnestly at Lomaque, asked, "Do you bringany news from Paris?"

  "None," he replied; "but excellent news, instead, from Rouen. I haveheard, accidentally, through the employer whom I have been serving sincewe parted, that your old house by the river-side is to let again."

  Rose started from her chair. "Oh, Louis, if we could only live thereonce more! My flower-garden?" she continued to Lomaque.

  "Cultivated throughout," he answered, "by the late proprietor."

  "And the laboratory?" added her brother.

  "Left standing," said Lomaque. "Here is a letter with all theparticulars. You may depend upon them, for the writer is the personcharged with the letting of the house."

  Trudaine looked over the letter eagerly.

  "The price is not beyond our means," he said. "After our three years'economy here, we can afford to give something for a great pleasure."

  "Oh, what a day of happiness it will be when we go home again!" criedRose. "Pray write to your friend at once," she added, addressingLomaque, "and say we take the house, before any one else is beforehandwith us!"

  He nodded, and folding up the letter mechanically in the old officialform, made a note on it in the old official manner. Trudaine observedthe action, and felt its association with past times of trouble andterror. His face grew grave again as he said to Lomaque, "And is thisgood news really all the news of importance you have to tell us?"

  Lomaque hesitated, and fidgeted in his chair. "What other news I havewill bear keeping," he replied. "There are many questions I should liketo ask first, about your sister and yourself. Do you mind allowing me torefer for a moment to the time when we last met?"

  He addressed this inquiry to Rose, who answered in the negative; but hervoice seemed to falter, even in saying the one word "No." She turned herhead away when she spoke; and Lomaque noticed that her hands trembledas she took up some work lying on a table near, and hurriedly occupiedherself with it.

  "We speak as little about that time as possible," said Trudaine, lookingsignificantly toward his sister; "but we have some questions to ask youin our turn; so the allusion, for this once, is inevitable. Your suddendisappearance at the very crisis of that time of danger has not yetbeen fully explained to us. The one short note which you left behind youhelped us to guess at what had happened rather than to understand it."

  "I can easily explain it now," answered Lomaque. "The sudden overthrowof the Reign of Terror, which was salvation to you, was destruction tome. The new republican reign was a reign of mercy, except for the tailof Robespierre, as the phrase ran then. Every man who had been so wickedor so unfortunate as to be involved, even in the meanest capacity, withthe machinery of the government of Terror, was threatened, and justly,with the fate of Robespierre. I, among others, fell under this menaceof death. I deserved to die, and should have resigned myself to theguillotine but for you. From the course taken by public events, Iknew you would be saved; and although your safety was the work ofcircumstances, still I had a hand in rendering it possible at theoutset; and a yearning came over me to behold you both free again withmy own eyes--a selfish yearning to see in you a living, breathing, realresult of the one good impulse of my heart, which I could look backon with satisfaction. This desire gave me a new interest in life. Iresolved to escape death if it were possible. For ten days I lay hiddenin Paris. After that--thanks to certain scraps of useful knowledge whichmy experience in the office of secret police had given me--I succeededin getting clear of Paris and in making my way safely to Switzerland.The rest of my story is so short and so soon told that I may as well getit over at once. The only relation I knew of in the world to apply towas a cousin of mine (whom I had never seen before), established as asilk-mercer at Berne. I threw myself on this man's mercy. He discoveredthat I was likely, with my business habits, to be of some use to him,and he took me into his house. I worked for what he pleased to give me,traveled about for him in Switzerland, deserved his confidence, and wonit. Till within the last few months I remained with him; and only leftmy employment to enter, by my master's own desire, the house of hisbrother, established also as a silk-mercer, at Chalons-sur-Marne. In thecounting-house of this merchant I am corresponding clerk, and am onlyable to come and see you now by offering to undertake a special businessmission for my employer at Paris. It is drudgery, at my time of life,after all I have gone through--but my hard work is innocent work. Iam not obliged to cringe for every crown-piece I put in my pocket--notbound to denounce, deceive, and dog to death other men, before I canearn my bread, and scrape together money enough to bury me. I am endinga bad, base life harmlessly at last. It is a poor thing to do, but it issomething done--and even that contents a man at my age. In short, I amhappier than I used to be, or at least less ashamed when I look peoplelike you in the face."

  "Hush! hush!" interrupted Rose, laying her hand on his arm. "I cannotallow you to talk of yourself in that way, even in jest."

  "I was speaking in earnest," answered Lomaque, quietly; "but I won'tweary you with any more words about myself. My story is told."

  "All?" asked Trudaine. He looked searchingly, almost suspiciously, atLomaque, as he put the question. "All?" he repeated. "Yours is a shortstory, indeed, my good friend! Perhaps you have forgotten some of it?"

  Again Lomaque fidgeted and hesitated.

  "Is it not a little hard on an old man to be always asking questionsof him, and never answering one of his inquiries in return?" he said toRose, very gayly as to manner, but rather uneasily as to look.

  "He will not speak out till we two are alone," thought Trudaine. "It isbest to risk nothing, and to humor him."

  "Come, come," he said aloud; "no grumbling. I admit that it is your turnto hear our story now; and I will do my best to gratify you. But beforeI begin," he added, turning to his sister, "let me suggest, Rose, thatif you have any household matters to settle upstairs--"

  "I know what you mean," she interrupted, hurriedly, taking up the workwhich, during the last few minutes, she had allowed to drop into herlap; "but I am stronger than you think; I can face the worst of ourrecollections composedly. Go on, Louis; pray go on--I am quite fit tostop and hear you."

  "You know what we suffered in the first days of our suspense, after thesuccess of your stratagem," said Trudaine, turning to Lomaque. "I thinkit was on the evening after we had seen you for the last time at St.Lazare that strange, confused rumors of an impending convulsion in Parisfirst penetrated within our prison walls. During the next few days thefaces of our jailers were enough to show us that those rumors were true,and that the Reign of Terror was actually threatened with overthrow atthe hands of the Moderate Party. We had hardly time to hope everythingfrom this blessed change before the tremendous news of Robespierre'sattempted suicide, then of his condemnation and execution, reached us.The confusion produced in the prison was beyond all description. Theaccused who had been tried and the accused who had not been tried gotmingled together. From the day of Robespierre's arrest, no orders cameto the authorities, no death-lists reached the prison. The jailers,terrified by rumors that the lowest accomplices of the tyrant would beheld responsible, and be condemned with him, made no attempt to maintainorder. Some of them--that hunchback man among the rest--deserted theirduties altogether. The disorganization was so comple
te, that when thecommissioners from the new Government came to St. Lazare, some of uswere actually half starving from want of the bare necessities oflife. To inquire separately into our cases was found to be impossible.Sometimes the necessary papers were lost; sometimes what documentsremained were incomprehensible to the new commissioners. They wereobliged, at last, to make short work of it by calling us up before themin dozens. Tried or not tried, we had all been arrested by the tyrant,had all been accused of conspiracy against him, and were all ready tohail the new Government as the salvation of France. In nine cases outof ten, our best claim to be discharged was derived from thesecircumstances. We were trusted by Tallien and the men of the NinthThermidor, because we had been suspected by Robespierre, Couthon, andSt. Just. Arrested informally, we were now liberated informally. Whenit came to my sister's turn and mine, we were not under examinationfive minutes. No such thing as a searching question was asked of us; Ibelieve we might even have given our own names with perfect impunity.But I had previously instructed Rose that we were to assume our mother'smaiden name--Maurice. As the citizen and citoyenne Maurice, accordingly,we passed out of prison--under the same name we have lived ever sincein hiding here. Our past repose has depended, our future happiness willdepend, on our escape from death being kept the profoundest secret amongus three. For one all sufficient reason, which you can easily guess at,the brother and sister Maurice must still know nothing of Louis Trudaineand Rose Danville, except that they were two among the hundreds ofvictims guillotined during the Reign of Terror."

  He spoke the last sentence with a faint smile, and with the air of a mantrying, in spite of himself, to treat a grave subject lightly. His faceclouded again, however, in a moment, when he looked toward his sister,as he ceased. Her work had once more dropped on her lap, her face wasturned away so that he could not see it; but he knew by the tremblingof her clasped hands, as they rested on her knee, and by the slightswelling of the veins on her neck which she could not hide from him,that her boasted strength of nerve had deserted her. Three years ofrepose had not yet enabled her to hear her marriage name uttered, or tobe present when past times of deathly suffering and terror were referredto, without betraying the shock in her face and manner. Trudaine lookedsaddened, but in no way surprised by what he saw. Making a sign toLomaque to say nothing, he rose and took up his sister's hood, which layon a window-seat near him.

  "Come, Rose," he said, "the sun is shining, the sweet spring air isinviting us out. Let us have a quiet stroll along the banks of thestream. Why should we keep our good friend here cooped up in this narrowlittle room, when we have miles and miles of beautiful landscape toshow him on the other side of the threshold? Come, it is high treason toQueen Nature to remain indoors on such a morning as this."

  Without waiting for her to reply, he put on her hood, drew her armthrough his, and led the way out. Lomaque's face grew grave as hefollowed them.

  "I am glad I only showed the bright side of my budget of news in herpresence," thought he. "She is not well at heart yet. I might have hurther, poor thing! I might have hurt her again sadly, if I had not held mytongue!"

  They walked for a little while down the banks of the stream, talking ofindifferent matters; then returned to the cottage. By that time Rose hadrecovered her spirits, and could listen with interest and amusementto Lomaque's dryly-humorous description of his life as a clerk atChalons-sur-Marne. They parted for a little while at the cottage door.Rose retired to the upstairs room from which she had been summoned byher brother. Trudaine and Lomaque returned to wander again along thebanks of the stream.

  With one accord, and without a word passing between them, they left theneighborhood of the cottage hurriedly; then stopped on a sudden, andattentively looked each other in the face--looked in silence for aninstant. Trudaine spoke first.

  "I thank you for having spared her," he began, abruptly. "She is notstrong enough yet to bear hearing of a new misfortune, unless I breakthe tidings to her first."

  "You suspect me, then, of bringing bad news?" said Lomaque.

  "I know you do. When I saw your first look at her, after we were allseated in the cottage parlor, I knew it. Speak without fear, withoutcaution, without one useless word of preface. After three years ofrepose, if it pleases God to afflict us again, I can bear the trialcalmly; and, if need be, can strengthen her to bear it calmly, too. Isay again, Lomaque, speak at once, and speak out! I know your news isbad, for I know beforehand that it is news of Danville."

  "You are right; my bad news is news of him."

  "He has discovered the secret of our escape from the guillotine?"

  "No--he has not a suspicion of it. He believes--as his mother, as everyone does--that you were both executed the day after the RevolutionaryTribunal sentenced you to death."

  "Lomaque, you speak positively of that belief of his--but you cannot becertain of it."

  "I can, on the most indisputable, the most startling evidence--on theauthority of Danville's own act. You have asked me to speak out--"

  "I ask you again--I insist on it! Your news, Lomaque--your news, withoutanother word of preface!"

  "You shall have it without another word of preface. Danville is on thepoint of being married."

  As the answer was given they both stopped by the bank of the stream, andagain looked each other in the face. There was a minute of dead silencebetween them. During that minute, the water bubbling by happily over itsbed of pebbles seemed strangely loud, the singing of birds in a littlewood by the stream-side strangely near and shrill, in both their ears.The light breeze, for all its midday warmth, touched their cheekscoldly; and the spring sunlight pouring on their faces felt as if itwere glimmering on them through winter clouds.

  "Let us walk on," said Trudaine, in a low voice. "I was prepared for badnews, yet not for that. Are you certain of what you have just told me?"

  "As certain as that the stream here is flowing by our side. Hear howI made the discovery, and you will doubt no longer. Before last weekI knew nothing of Danville, except that his arrest on suspicion byRobespierre's order was, as events turned out, the saving of his life.He was imprisoned, as I told you, on the evening after he had heardyour names read from the death-list at the prison grate. He remainedin confinement at the Temple, unnoticed in the political confusionout-of-doors, just as you remained unnoticed at St. Lazare, and heprofited precisely in the same manner that you profited by the timelyinsurrection which overthrew the Reign of Terror. I knew this, andI knew that he walked out of prison in the character of a persecutedvictim of Robespierre's--and, for better than three years past, I knewno more. Now listen. Last week I happened to be waiting in the shopof my employer, Citizen Clairfait, for some papers to take into thecounting-house, when an old man enters with a sealed parcel, which hehands to one of the shopmen, saying:

  "'Give that to Citizen Clairfait.'

  "'Any name?' says the shopman.

  "'The name is of no consequence,' answers the old man; 'but if youplease, you can give mine. Say the parcel came from Citizen Dubois;' andthen he goes out. His name, in connection with his elderly look, strikesme directly.

  "'Does that old fellow live at Chalons?' I ask.

  "'No,' says the shopman. 'He is here in attendance on a customer ofours--an old ex-aristocrat named Danville. She is on a visit in ourtown.'

  "I leave you to imagine how that reply startles and amazes me. Theshopman can answer none of the other questions I put to him; but thenext day I am asked to dinner by my employer (who, for his brother'ssake, shows me the utmost civility). On entering the room, I find hisdaughter just putting away a lavender-colored silk scarf, on which shehas been embroidering in silver what looks to me very like a crest andcoat-of-arms.

  "'I don't mind your seeing what I am about, Citizen Lomaque,' says she;'for I know my father can trust you. That scarf is sent back to us bythe purchaser, an ex-emigrant lady of the old aristocratic school, tohave her family coat-of-arms embroidered on it.'

  "'Rather a dangerous commission even in these mer
cifully democratictimes, is it not?' says I.

  "'The old lady, you must know,' says she, 'is as proud as Lucifer;and having got back safely to France in these days of moderaterepublicanism, thinks she may now indulge with impunity in all herold-fashioned notions. She has been an excellent customer of ours, somy father thought it best to humor her, without, however, trusting hercommission to any of the workroom women to execute. We are not livingunder the Reign of Terror now, certainly; still there is nothing likebeing on the safe side.'

  "'Nothing,' I answer. 'Pray what is this ex-emigrant's name?'

  "'Danville,' replies the citoyenne Clairfait. 'She is going to appearin that fine scarf at her son's marriage.'

  "'Marriage!' I exclaim, perfectly thunderstruck.

  "'Yes,' says she. 'What is there so amazing in that? By all accounts,the son, poor man, deserves to make a lucky marriage this time. Hisfirst wife was taken away from him in the Reign of Terror by theguillotine.'

  "'Who is he going to marry?' I inquire, still breathless.

  "'The daughter of General Berthelin--an ex-aristocrat by family, likethe old lady; but by principle as good a republican as ever lived--ahard-drinking, loud-swearing, big-whiskered old soldier, who snaps hisfingers at his ancestors and says we are all descended from Adam, thefirst genuine sans-culotte in the world.'

  "In this way the citoyenne Clairfait gossips on all dinner-time, butsays nothing more of any importance. I, with my old police-officehabits, set to the next day, and try to make some discoveries formyself. The sum of what I find out is this: Danville's mother is stayingwith General Berthelin's sister and daughter at Chalons, and Danvillehimself is expected to arrive every day to escort them all three toParis, where the marriage-contract is to be signed at the general'shouse. Discovering this, and seeing that prompt action is now ofthe most vital importance, I undertake, as I told you, my employer'scommission for Paris, depart with all speed, and stop here on my way.Wait! I have not done yet. All the haste I can make is not haste enoughto give me a good start of the wedding party. On my road here, thediligence by which I travel is passed by a carriage, posting alongat full speed. I cannot see inside that carriage; but I look at thebox-seat, and recognize on it the old man Dubois. He whirls by in acloud of dust, but I am certain of him; and I say to myself what I nowsay again to you, no time is to be lost!"

  "No time _shall_ be lost," answers, Trudaine, firmly. "Three years havepassed," he continued, in a lower voice, speaking to himself rather thanto Lomaque; "three years since the day when I led my sister out of thegates of the prison--three years since I said in my heart, 'I will bepatient, and will not seek to avenge myself. Our wrongs cry from earthto heaven; from man who inflicts to God who redresses. When the day ofreckoning comes, let it be the day of his vengeance, not of mine.' In myheart I said those words--I have been true to them--I have waited. Theday has come, and the duty it demands of me shall be fulfilled."

  There was a moment's silence before Lomaque spoke again. "Your sister?"he began, hesitatingly.

  "It is there only that my purpose falters," said the other, earnestly."If it were but possible to spare her all knowledge of this last trial,and to leave the accomplishment of the terrible task to me alone?"

  "I think it is possible," interposed Lomaque. "Listen to what I advise.We must depart for Paris by the diligence to-morrow morning, and we musttake your sister with us--to-morrow will be time enough; people don'tsign marriage-contracts on the evening after a long day's journey. Wemust go then, and we must take your sister. Leave the care of her inParis, and the responsibility of keeping her in ignorance of what youare doing, to me. Go to this General Berthelin's house at a time whenyou know Danville is there (we can get that knowledge through theservants); confront him without a moment's previous warning; confronthim as a man risen from the dead; confront him before every soul in theroom though the room should be full of people--and leave the rest tothe self-betrayal of a panic-stricken man. Say but three words, and yourduty will be done; you may return to your sister, and may depart withher in safety to your old retreat at Rouen, or where else you please, onthe very day when you have put it out of her infamous husband's power toadd another to the list of his crimes."

  "You forget the suddenness of the journey to Paris," said Trudaine."How are we to account for it without the risk of awakening my sister'ssuspicions?"

  "Trust that to me," answered Lomaque. "Let us return to the cottage atonce. No, not you," he added, suddenly, as they turned to retrace theirsteps. "There is that in your face which would betray us. Leave me togo back alone--I will say that you have gone to give some orders atthe inn. Let us separate immediately. You will recover yourself-possession--you will get to look yourself again sooner--if you areleft alone. I know enough of you to know that. We will not waste anotherminute in explanations; even minutes are precious to us on such a dayas this. By the time you are fit to meet your sister again, I shall havehad time to say all I wish to her, and shall be waiting at the cottageto tell you the result."

  He looked at Trudaine, and his eyes seemed to brighten again withsomething of the old energy and sudden decision of the days when he wasa man in office under the Reign of Terror. "Leave it to me," he said;and, waving his hand, turned away quickly in the direction of thecottage.

  Nearly an hour passed before Trudaine ventured to follow him. When he atlength entered the path which led to the garden gate, he saw his sisterwaiting at the cottage door. Her face looked unusually animated; and sheran forward a step or two to meet him.

  "Oh, Louis!" she said, "I have a confession to make, and I must beg youto hear it patiently to the end. You must know that our good Lomaque,though he came in tired from his walk, occupied himself the first thing,at my request, in writing the letter which is to secure to us our dearold home by the banks of the Seine. When he had done, he looked at me,and said, 'I should like to be present at your happy return to the housewhere I first saw you.' 'Oh, come, come with us!' I said directly. 'I amnot an independent man,' he answered; 'I have a margin of time allowedme at Paris, certainly, but it is not long--if I were only my ownmaster--' and then he stopped. Louis, I remembered all we owed to him;I remembered that there was no sacrifice we ought not to be too glad tomake for his sake; I felt the kindness of the wish he had expressed; andperhaps I was a little influenced by my own impatience to see once moremy flower-garden and the rooms where we used to be so happy. So I saidto him, 'I am sure Louis will agree with me that our time is yours, andthat we shall be only too glad to advance our departure so as to maketraveling leisure enough for you to come with us to Rouen. We should beworse than ungrateful--' He stopped me. 'You have always been good tome,' he said. 'I must not impose on your kindness now. No, no, you haveformalities to settle before you can leave this place.' 'Not one,' Isaid--for we have not, as you know, Louis? 'Why, here is your furnitureto begin with,' he said. 'A few chairs and tables hired from the inn,' Ianswered; 'we have only to give the landlady our key, to leave a letterfor the owner of the cottage, and then--' He laughed. 'Why, to hear youtalk, one would think you were as ready to travel as I am!' 'So we are,'I said, 'quite as ready, living in the way we do here.' He shook hishead; but you will not shake yours, Louis, I am sure, now you have heardall my long story? You can't blame me can you?"

  Before Trudaine could answer, Lomaque looked out of the cottage window.

  "I have just been telling my brother every thing," said Rose, turninground toward him.

  "And what does he say?" asked Lomaque.

  "He says what I say," replied Rose, answering for her brother; "that ourtime is your time--the time of our best and dearest friend."

  "Shall it be done, then?" asked Lomaque, with a meaning look atTrudaine.

  Rose glanced anxiously at her brother; his face was much graver than shehad expected to see it, but his answer relieved her from all suspense.

  "You are quite right, love, to speak as you did," he said, gently. Then,turning to Lomaque, he added, in a firmer voice, "It shall be done!"

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