ad taken the shortest road to the sea, and that
he himself would try to get out of France by the eastern frontier.

We will not dwell on all he endured. But a month later, Sanselme,
completely changed in appearance, entered Switzerland, going thence to
Germany. Intelligent and active, he had no difficulty in obtaining
employment. And Benedetto's crime seemed to have had a marvelous effect
upon him. He seemed resolved upon repentance. For ten years, utilizing
his acquaintance with foreign languages, Maslenes--he had taken this
name--lived quietly in Munich. Not the smallest indiscretion on his part
attracted the attention of the police. He was almost happy with these
children about him, his pupils; but he was alone in his so-called home,
and all at once a great longing came over him to see France once more.
He was well aware that it would be a great imprudence on his part to
return to his native land; he might be recognized, or some chance might
reveal his past.

Nevertheless, he went. Ten years had elapsed since he crossed the
frontier. He went first to Lyons, not daring to attempt Paris, although
he chose a large city, believing that there he would incur less risk of
being recognized. He had saved some money, and thought he could teach
again. He had not been six months in Lyons before he was known as the
good Monsieur Maslenes, and was liked by every one. He led the most
regular life that could be imagined, and no one would have suspected
that this stout, placid-looking person could be an escaped convict. He
fully intended to live and die thus in obscurity, and really enjoyed the
torpor of this existence. In the evening he took long walks, and from
motives of prudence went out but little by daylight. Alone in the
darkness, he often felt intense remorse, and remorse is not a pleasing
companion.

One winter's night--the snow had been falling all day--Sanselme stayed
out later than usual. The cold was sharp and there was no moon. Suddenly
he heard an angry discussion across the street. Coarse voices and then a
woman's tone of appeal. Sanselme did not linger, he had made it a rule
never to interfere in quarrels. He feared any complication which should
compromise him. But as he hurried on, he heard a wild cry for help.

"Oh! leave my child!" the woman cried. "Help! Help!"

Sanselme forgot all his prudence and ran in the direction of the cries.
He found a woman struggling with three drunken men, trying to tear from
them