d you undoubtedly believe
it. But I, who have sought to discover the necessity of this immense
sacrifice, have failed to find it. Explain to me, then, why this must be
so, Marie-Anne. Who knows but you are frightened by chimeras, which my
experience can scatter with a breath? Have you no confidence in me? Am
I not an old friend? It may be that your father, in his despair,
has adopted extreme resolutions. Speak, let us combat them together.
Lacheneur knows how devotedly I am attached to him. I will speak to him;
he will listen to _me_."

"_I_ can tell you nothing, Monsieur."

"What! you are so cruel as to remain inflexible when a father entreats
you on his knees--a father who says to you: 'Marie-Anne, you hold in
your hands the happiness, the life, the reason of my son----'"

Tears glittered in Marie-Anne's eyes, but she drew away her hand.

"Ah! it is you who are cruel, Monsieur; it is you who are without pity.
Do you not see what I suffer, and that it is impossible for me to endure
further torture? No, I have nothing to tell you; there is nothing
you can say to my father. Why do you seek to impair my courage when I
require it all to struggle against my despair? Maurice must forget me;
he must never see me again. This is fate; and he must not fight against
it. It would be folly. We are parted forever. Beseech Maurice to leave
the country, and if he refuses, you, who are his father, must command
him to do so. And you, too, Monsieur, in Heaven's name, flee from us.
We shall bring misfortune upon you. Never return here; our house is
accursed. The fate that overshadows us will ruin you also."

She spoke almost wildly. Her voice was so loud that it penetrated an
adjoining room.

The communicating door opened and M. Lacheneur appeared upon the
threshold.

At the sight of M. d'Escorval he uttered an oath. But there was more
sorrow and anxiety than anger in his manner, as he said:

"You, Monsieur, you here!"

The consternation into which Marie-Anne's words had thrown M. d'Escorval
was so intense that it was with great difficulty he stammered out a
response.

"You have abandoned us entirely; I was anxious about you. Have you
forgotten our old friendship? I come to you----"

The brow of the former master of Sairmeuse remained overcast.

"Why did you not inform me of the honor that the baron had done me,
Marie-Anne?" he said sternly.

She tried to speak, but could not; and it was the baron who replied:

"Why, I h