the end of the winter in a country where it would be less disagreeable
than here, and, above all, less dangerous for my constitution."

"You do not say that seriously, I hope?" cried Madame Cormier.

"On the contrary, very seriously."

"We are hardly reunited, and you think of a separation," she said,
sadly.

"It is not of a separation that Florentin thinks," cried Phillis, "but
of a flight."

"And why not?"

"Because only the guilty fly."

"It is exactly the contrary. The intelligent criminals stay, and, as
generally they are resolute men, they know beforehand that they are
able to face the danger; while the innocent, timid like myself, or the
unlucky, lose their heads and fly, because they know beforehand, also,
that if a danger threatens them, it will crush them. That is why I would
return to America if I could pay my passage; at least I should feel easy
there."

There was a moment of silence, during which each one seemed to have no
thought but to finish dinner.

"Granting that this project is not likely," Florentin said, "I have
another idea."

"Why do you have ideas?" Phillis asked.

"I wish you were in my place; we should see if you would not have them."

"I assure you that I am in your place, and that your trouble is mine,
only it does not betray itself in the same manner. But what is your
idea?"

"It is to find Valerius and tell him all."

"And who will answer to us for Valerius's discretion?" asked Madame
Cormier. "Would it not be the greatest imprudence that you could commit?
One cannot play with a secret of this importance."

"Valerius is an honest man."

"It is because he cannot work when political, or rather patriotic,
affairs go wrong, that you say this."

"And why not? With a poor man who lives in a small way by his work, are
not this care and pride in his country marks of an honorable heart?"

"I grant the honorable heart, but it is another reason for being prudent
with him," Phillis said. "Precisely because he may be what you think,
reserve is necessary. You tell him what is passed. If he accepts it and
your innocence, it is well; he will not betray your secret voluntarily
nor by stupidity. But he will not accept it; he will look beyond. He
will suppose that you wish to deceive him, and he will suspect you. In
that case, would he not go and tell all to the police commissioner of
our quarter? As for me, I think it is a danger that it would be foolish
to risk."

"And, according