He had no sooner renounced his liberty than he became persuaded, by an overwhelming reasoning, as he had never been convinced before, of the pricelessness of that he had sacrificed.  When he went from the court-room, from the presence of his judges, he was not a free man, though the dignitaries called him so.  Martial Mazurier walked arm in arm with him, but the world was a den of horrors, a blackened and accursed world, to the young man who came from prison, free to use his freedom—­as the priests directed!

He went home from the prison with Mazurier.  The world had conquered.  Love had conquered,—­Love, that in the conquest felt itself disgraced.  He had sold the divine, he had received the human:  it was the old pottage speculation over again.  This privilege of liberty from his dungeon had looked so fair!—­but now it seemed so worthless!  This prospect of life so priceless in contemplation of its loss,—­oh, the beggar who crept past him was an enviable man, compared with young Victor Le Roy, the heir of love and riches, the heir of liberty and life!

Yes,—­he went home with Mazurier.  Where else should he go?  Congratulations attended him.  He was compelled to receive them with a countenance not too sombre, and a grace not all thankless, or—­or—­they would say it was of cowardice he had saved his precious body from the sentence of the judges, and given his precious life up to the sentence of the judge.

Yes,—­Martial took him home.  There they might talk at leisure of those things,—­and ask a blessing on the testimony of Jesus, made and kept by them!

Victor Le Roy was too proud to complain now.  He assented to all the preacher’s sophistry.  He allowed himself to be cheered.  But this was no such evening as had been spent in the room of the wool-comber, when Leclerc’s voice, strong, even through his weakness, called on God, and blessed and praised Him, and the spirit conquered the flesh gloriously,—­the old mother of Leclerc sharing his joy, as she had also shared his anguish.  Here was no Jacqueline to say to Victor, “Thou hast done well!  ‘Glory be to Jesus Christ, and His witnesses!’”

Mazurier thanked God for the deliverance of His servant!  He dedicated himself and Victor anew to the service of Truth, which they had shrunk from defending!  And his eloquence and fervor seemed to stamp the words with sincerity.  He seemed not in the least to suspect or fear himself.

With Victor Le Roy such self-deception, such sophistry, was simply impossible.

* * * * *

Not of purpose did he meet Jacqueline that night.  She had heard that Le Roy was at liberty, and alone now she applied at the door of Martial Mazurier for admittance, but in vain.  The master had signified that his evening was not to be interrupted.  Therefore she returned, from waiting near his door, to the street where she and Elsie lived.

Should her woman’s pride have led her to her lofty lodging, and kept her there without a sign, till Victor himself came seeking her?  She knew nothing of such pride,—­but much of love; and her love took her back to the post where she had waited many an hour since that disastrous arrest:  she would wait there till morning, if she must,—­at least, till one should enter, or come forth, who might tell her of Victor Le Roy.