l! We shall
succeed. I will save your father, and mine--I will save your brother!"

The horses were neighing and stamping in the courtyard. The abbe cried:
"Come, let us start." Mme. d'Escorval entered with a letter, which she
handed to Maurice.

She clasped in a long and convulsive embrace the son whom she feared she
should never see again; then, summoning all her courage, she pushed him
away, uttering only the single word:

"Go!"

He departed; and when the sound of the carriage-wheels had died away
in the distance, Mme. d'Escorval and Marie-Anne fell upon their knees,
imploring the mercy and aid of a just God.

They could only pray. The cure and Maurice could act.

Abbe Midon's plan, which he explained to young d'Escorval, as the horses
dashed along, was as simple as the situation was terrible.

"If, by confessing your own guilt, you could save your father, I should
tell you to deliver yourself up, and to confess the whole truth. Such
would be your duty. But this sacrifice would be not only useless, but
dangerous. Your confession of guilt would only implicate your father
still more. You would be arrested, but they would not release him, and
you would both be tried and convicted. Let us, then, allow--I will not
say justice, for that would be blasphemy--but these blood-thirsty men,
who call themselves judges, to pursue their course, and attribute all
that you have done to your father. When the trial comes, you will prove
his innocence, and produce alibis so incontestable, that they will be
forced to acquit him. And I understand the people of our country so
well, that I am sure not one of them will reveal our stratagem."

"And if we should not succeed," asked Maurice, gloomily, "what could I
do then?"

The question was so terrible that the priest dared not respond to it. He
and Maurice were silent during the remainder of the drive.

They reached the city at last, and Maurice saw how wise the abbe had
been in preventing him from assuming a disguise.

Armed with the most absolute power, the Duc de Sairmeuse and the Marquis
de Courtornieu had closed all the gates of Montaignac save one.

Through this gate all who desired to leave or enter the city were
obliged to pass, and two officers were stationed there to examine
all comers and goers, to question them, and to take their name and
residence.

At the name "d'Escorval," the two officers evinced such surprise that
Maurice noticed it at once.

"Ah! you know