“Is it true, Victor, that Martial Mazurier is in prison?”

His answer surprised her.

“No, it is not true.”

But his countenance did not answer the glad expression of her face with an equal smile.  His gravity almost communicated itself to her.  Yet this rebound from her recent dismay surely might demand an opportunity.

“I believe you,” said she.  “But I was coming to see if it could be true.  It was hard to believe, and yet it has cost me a great deal to persuade myself against belief, Victor.”

“It will cost you still more, Jacqueline.  Martial Mazurier has recanted.”

“He has been in prison, then?”

“He has retracted, and is free again,—­has denied himself.  No more glorious words from him, Jacqueline, such as we have heard!  He has sold himself to the Devil, you see.”

“Mazurier?”

“Mazurier has thought raiment better than life. He has believed a man’s life to consist in the abundance of the things he possesseth,” said the youth, bitterly.  He continued, looking steadfastly at Jacqueline,—­“Probably I must give up the Truth also.  My uncle is dead:  must I not secure my possessions?—­for I am no longer a poor man; I cannot afford to let my life fall into the hands of those wolves.”

“Mazurier retracted?  I cannot believe it, Victor Le Roy!”

“Believe, then, that yesterday the man was in prison, and to-day he is at large.  Yes, he says that he can serve Jesus Christ more favorably, more successfully, by complying with the will of the bishop and the priests.  You see the force of his argument.  If he should be silenced, or imprisoned long, or his life should be cut off, he would then be able to preach no more at all in any way.  He only does not believe that whosoever will save his life, in opposition to the law of the everlasting gospel, must lose it.”

“Oh, do you remember what he said to John,—­what he prayed in that room?  Oh, Victor, what does it mean?”

“It means what cannot be spoken,—­what I dare not say or think.”

“Not that we are wrong, mistaken, Victor?”

“No, Jacqueline, never! it can never mean that!  Whatever we may do with the Truth, we cannot make it false.  We may act like cowards, unworthy, ungrateful, ignorant; but the Truth will remain, Jacqueline.”

“Victor, you could not desert it.”

“How can I tell, Jacqueline?  The last time I saw Martial Mazurier, he would have said nobler and more loving words than I can command.  But with my own eyes I saw him walking at liberty in streets where liberty for him to walk could be bought only at an infamous price.”

“Is there such danger for all men who believe with John Leclerc, and with—­with you, Victor?”

“Yes, there is danger, such danger.”

“Then you must go away.  You must not stay in Meaux,” she said, quickly, in a low, determined voice.

“Jacqueline, I must remain in Meaux,” he answered, as quickly, with flushed face and flashing eyes.  The dignity of conscious integrity, and the “fear of fear,” a beholder who could discern the tokens might have perceived in him.