tifled laughter, from which he
vainly strove to restrain himself by pinching me.

I was not in so gay a mood myself, however, the responsibility of his
safety lying heavy upon me; while the possibility that the adventure
might prove no less tragical in the sequel than it now appeared
comical, did not fail to present itself to my eyes in the darkest
colours. When we had watched, therefore, five minutes more--which
seemed to me an hour--I began to lose faith; and I was on the point of
undertaking to persuade Henry to withdraw, when the voices of men
speaking at the door below reached us, and told me that it was too
late. The next moment their steps crossed the threshold, and they
began to ascend, the boy saying continually, "This way, messieurs, this
way!" and preceding them as he had preceded us. We heard them
approach, breathing heavily, and but for the balustrade, by which I
felt sure that they would guide themselves, and which stood some feet
from our corner, I should have been in a panic lest they should blunder
against us. But they passed safely, and a moment later the boy opened
the door of the room above. We heard them go in, and without a
second's hesitation we crept up after them, following them so closely
that the door was scarcely shut before we were at it. We heard,
therefore, what passed from the first: the child's request that they
would close the shutter, their hasty compliance, and the silence,
strange and pregnant, which followed, and which was broken at last by a
solemn voice. "We have closed one shutter," it said, "but the shutter
of God's mercy Is never closed."

"Amen," a second person answered in a tone so distant and muffled that
it needed no great wit to guess whence it came, or that the speaker was
behind the curtains of the alcove. "Who are you?"

"The cure of St. Marceau," the first speaker replied.

"And whom do you bring to me?"

"A sinner."

"What has he done?"

"He will tell you."

"I am listening."

There was a pause on this, a long pause; which was broken at length by
a third speaker, in a tone half sullen, half miserable. "I have robbed
my master," he said.

"Of how much?"

"Fifty livres."

"Why?"

"I lost it at play."

"And you are sorry."

"I must be sorry," the man panted with sudden fierceness, "or hang!"
Hidden though he was from us, there was a tremor in his voice that told
a tale of pallid cheeks and shaking knees, and a terror fast rising to
madnes