h, Madeleine, Madeleine!"

He was overcome with emotion; but in a few minutes he started up with
renewed violence in his voice and manner.

"Everything is against me!" he exclaimed, "but no matter. I will justify
myself or perish in the attempt. Human justice is liable to error;
although innocent, I may be convicted: so be it. I will undergo my
penalty; but people are not kept galley-slaves forever."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, father, that I am now another man. My life, henceforth, has an
object, vengeance! I am the victim of a vile plot. As long as I have a
drop of blood in my veins, I will seek its author. And I will certainly
find him; and then bitterly shall he expiate all of my cruel suffering.
The blow came from the house of Fauvel, and I will live to prove it."

"Take care: your anger makes you say things that you will repent
hereafter."

"Yes, I see, you are going to descant upon the probity of M. Andre
Fauvel. You will tell me that all the virtues have taken refuge in the
bosom of this patriarchal family. What do you know about it? Would this
be the first instance in which the most shameful secrets are concealed
beneath the fairest appearances? Why did Madeleine suddenly forbid me to
think of her? Why has she exiled me, when she suffers as much from our
separation as I myself, when she still loves me? For she does love me. I
am sure of it. I have proofs of it."

The jailer came to say that the time allotted to M. Bertomy had expired,
and that he must leave the cell.

A thousand conflicting emotions seemed to rend the old man's heart.

Suppose Prosper were telling the truth: how great would be his remorse,
if he had added to his already great weight of sorrow and trouble! And
who could prove that he was not sincere?

The voice of this son, of whom he had always been so proud, had aroused
all his paternal affection, so violently repressed. Ah, were he guilty,
and guilty of a worse crime, still he was his son, his only son!

His countenance lost its severity, and his eyes filled with tears.

He had resolved to leave, as he had entered, stern and angry: he had
not the cruel courage. His heart was breaking. He opened his arms, and
pressed Prosper to his heart.

"Oh, my son!" he murmured. "God grant you have spoken the truth!"

Prosper was triumphant: he had almost convinced his father of his
innocence. But he had not time to rejoice over this victory.

The cell-door again opened, and the jailer'