nother, and so on.'"

"Boniface, I must go out."

"You, Mademoiselle Bathilde!" cried Boniface, terrified. "You go out!
why, it would kill you."

"I say I must go out."

"But you cannot stand upright."

"You are wrong, Boniface, I am strong--see."

And Bathilde began to walk up and down the room with a firm step.

"Moreover," added Bathilde, "you will go and fetch a coach."

"But, Mademoiselle Bathilde--"

"Boniface," said the young girl, "you have promised to obey me; till
this minute you have kept your word; are you getting lax in your
devotion?"

"I, Mademoiselle Bathilde! I lax in my devotion to you? You ask for a
coach, I will fetch two."

"Go, my friend, my brother," said Bathilde.

"Oh! Mademoiselle Bathilde, with such words you could make me do what
you liked. In five minutes the coach will be here."

And Boniface ran out.

Bathilde had on a loose white robe; she tied it in with a girdle, threw
a cloak over her shoulders, and got ready. As she was advancing to the
door Madame Denis entered.

"Oh, my dear child, what in Heaven's name are you going to do?"

"Madame," said Bathilde, "it is necessary that I should go out."

"Go out! you are mad?"

"No, madame," said Bathilde, "I am in perfect possession of my senses,
but you would drive me mad by retaining me."

"But at least where are you going, my dear child?"

"Do you not know that he is condemned?"

"Oh! mon Dieu! mon Dieu! who told you that? I had asked every one to
keep it from you."

"Yes, and to-morrow you would have told me that he was dead, and I
should have answered, 'You have killed him, for I had a means of saving
him, perhaps.'"

"You, you, my child! you have a means of saving him?"

"I said, perhaps; let me try the means, it is the only one remaining."

"Go, my child," said Madame Denis, struck by the inspired tone of
Bathilde's voice, "go, and may God guide you!"

Bathilde went out, descended the staircase with a slow but firm step,
crossed the street, ascended the four stories without resting, opened
the door of her room, which she had not entered since the day of the
catastrophe. At the noise which she made, Nanette came out of the inner
room, and gave a cry at seeing her young mistress.

"Well," asked Bathilde, in a grave tone, "what is it, my good Nanette?"

"Oh, mon Dieu!" cried the poor woman, trembling, "is that really you, or
is it your shadow?"

"It is I, Nanette; I am not yet dead."

"And why have you