ad already laid his hand in terror,
opened suddenly. It admitted Simon, who, closing it; behind him, stood
looking from one to the other of us in nervous doubt; divided between
that respect for the priest which a training at the Sorbonne had
instilled into him, and the rage which despair arouses in the weakest.

His presence, while it checked me in my purpose, seemed to give Father
Antoine courage, for the priest stood his ground, and even turned to me
a second time, his face dark with spite and disappointment. 'Good,' he
said hoarsely. 'Destroy yourself if you will! I advise you to bar
your door, for in an hour the guards will be here to fetch you to the
question.'

Simon cried out at the threat, so that I turned and looked at the lad.
His knees were shaking, his hair stood on end.

The priest saw his terror and his own opportunity. 'Ay, in an hour,' he
continued slowly, looking at him with cruel eyes. 'In an hour, lad! You
must be fond of pain to court it, and out of humour with life to throw
it away. Or stay,' he continued abruptly, after considering Simon's
narrowly for a moment, and doubtless deducing from it a last hope, 'I
will be merciful. I will give you one more chance.'

'And yourself?' I said with a sneer.

'As you please,' he answered, declining to be diverted from the
trembling lad, whom his gaze seemed to fascinate. 'I will give you until
half an hour after sunset this evening to reconsider the matter. If you
make up your minds to accept my terms, meet me then. I leave to-night
for Paris, and I will give you until the last moment. But,' he continued
grimly, 'if you do not meet me, or, meeting me, remain obstinate--God do
so to me, and more also, if you see the sun rise thrice.'

Some impulse, I know not what, seeing that I had no thought of accepting
his terms or meeting him, led me to ask briefly, 'Where?'

'On the Parvis of the Cathedral,' he answered after a moment's
calculation. 'At the north-east corner, half an hour after sunset. It is
a quiet spot.'

Simon uttered a stifled exclamation. And then for a moment there was
silence in the room, while the lad breathed hard and irregularly, and I
stood rooted to the spot, looking so long and so strangely at the priest
that Father Antoine laid his hand again on the door and glanced uneasily
behind him. Nor was he content until he had hit on, as he fancied, the
cause of my strange regard.

'Ha!' he said, his thin lip curling in conceit at his astut