While Alain Le Gallais thus sought comfort by the road of reason and of conscience, his heart continued very sore.  But on the morrow of his commitment an event occurred which changed his cheer, and made his prison for an instant more lovely than a palace.  All the Jerseymen were acquainted with each other, and the prison warder, though fully meaning to keep his captive, did not by any means understand his duty to extend to making such detention a punishment to a man whom he liked, and who had not yet been condemned.  So when Mme. de Maufant and her sister presented themselves at the gate, seeking admission to Alain’s cell, the worthy jailor unhesitatingly showed them into his own parlour, and fetched Alain to them, only taking the precaution of turning the door key upon the outside as he left them alone with the priser, on the understanding that they should call him from the window when they wished to leave.

Pale as death, her lovely eyes ringed with dark shades, poor Marguerite fell upon Alain’s breast, without pretence of coyness.

“Alain, mon ami!” she cooed in her soft rich voice, “can you give me your pardon?”

How far Alain believed this sudden revelation cannot certainly be told.  All that he felt able to do was to strain the girl to his heart and be silent.  Rose stood discreetly at the window; but finding that the lovers had no more to say to each other, she by and by broke silence.

“We shall not leave you to suffer for us,” she said.  “Carteret is without scruple and without mercy.  As a friend of Michael’s, he will seek every loophole for your ruin.  I have already seen the Advocate Falle.  He says that you will be tried for murder next week, and that if Carteret presides you are no better than a dead man.”

“To die for you and Marguerite is not so hard,” said the young man, with a smile.

“You shall do nothing of the sort,” cried Rose, warmly, “listen to me.  The day is setting in for rain and storm.  At five in the afternoon it will be dark.  Then one of us will come back with John Le Vesconte, of La Rosiere, who is your match in stature, and who will be admitted on account of his being of kin to us.  He will change clothes with you, and will remain in your stead while you come out of prison in his.  He is in favour with Carteret, and will be quit for a fine, which I will gladly pay.”

As she stood, warm and bright with zeal, and intellect flushing in her eye, Alain thought that, with all his troubles, her exiled lord was a happy man.  But he had to think of his own case.  Placing the broken form of Marguerite tenderly in a chair, he stood up and looked full in Rose’s face, his hands joined, almost in an attitude of prayer.

“Do not tempt me,” he said, in a low, but determined voice.  “I will not put another in my place to save my life, nor even to please Michael Lempriere’s wife.  Moreover, John Valpy, the jailor here—­who is somewhat of my family, too, for our fathers married cousins—­has dealt tenderly with me, and I will not do what would bring ruin upon him.  Tempt me no more,” he repeated hastily, seeing Rose about to interrupt him.  “My mind is fully made up.”