he threshold, and shrank back at his approach.

The chants of high mass were already resounding through the
church. Gerande went to her accustomed bench, and kneeled with
profound and simple reverence. Master Zacharius remained standing
upright beside her.

The ceremonies continued with the majestic solemnity of that
faithful age, but the old man had no faith. He did not implore
the pity of Heaven with cries of anguish of the "Kyrie;" he did
not, with the "Gloria in Excelsis," sing the splendours of the
heavenly heights; the reading of the Testament did not draw him
from his materialistic reverie, and he forgot to join in the
homage of the "Credo." This proud old man remained motionless, as
insensible and silent as a stone statue; and even at the solemn
moment when the bell announced the miracle of transubstantiation,
he did not bow his head, but gazed directly at the sacred host
which the priest raised above the heads of the faithful. Gerande
looked at her father, and a flood of tears moistened her missal.
At this moment the clock of Saint Pierre struck half-past eleven.
Master Zacharius turned quickly towards this ancient clock which
still spoke. It seemed to him as if its face was gazing steadily
at him; the figures of the hours shone as if they had been
engraved in lines of fire, and the hands shot forth electric
sparks from their sharp points.

[Illustration: This proud old man remained motionless]

The mass ended. It was customary for the "Angelus" to be said at
noon, and the priests, before leaving the altar, waited for the
clock to strike the hour of twelve. In a few moments this prayer
would ascend to the feet of the Virgin.

But suddenly a harsh noise was heard. Master Zacharius uttered a
piercing cry.

The large hand of the clock, having reached twelve, had abruptly
stopped, and the clock did not strike the hour.

Gerande hastened to her father's aid. He had fallen down
motionless, and they carried him outside the church.

"It is the death-blow!" murmured Gerande, sobbing.

When he had been borne home, Master Zacharius lay upon his bed
utterly crushed. Life seemed only to still exist on the surface
of his body, like the last whiffs of smoke about a lamp just
extinguished. When he came to his senses, Aubert and Gerande were
leaning over him. In these last moments the future took in his
eyes the shape of the present. He saw his daughter alone, without
a protector.

"My son," said he to Aubert, "I