“Hurrying to his house, he instantly dispatched messengers in all haste to San Giovanni and La Tour.

“About the same time, in the more remote town of Cavour, the fiendish plot was revealed to Captain Odetti, an officer of the Piedmontese militia, then enrolled to act against the French, with a request that he would take part in its execution.  Being a rigid Romanist it was confidently expected that he would willingly do so.

“But as noble and humane a man as Luserna’s good cure, he listened with like horror and detestation, and mounting his horse, instantly set off for La Tour to warn the helpless folk of the threatened calamity, and assist in averting it, if that might yet be possible.

“He travelled post haste, for time pressed; the appointed hour for the attack already drew so near that it was doubtful if even the most prompt action could still avail.

“Pale and breathless with haste and terror, Lucia and Henri gained the shelter of their home, and in reply to the anxious questioning of mother and grandparents, told of the hot pursuit of the evil men who had chased them into the town.

“Their story was heard with much concern, not only by the family, but also by a young man who had entered nearly at the same moment with themselves.

“His right arm was in a sling; his face, thin and wan with suffering, wore an expression of anxiety and alarm which deepened momentarily as the narrative proceeded.

“‘How is Bianca?’ he asked, upon its conclusion, the quiet tone telling nothing of the profound solicitude that filled his breast.

“‘Much the same,’ returned Sara Vittoria, the mother.

“‘A little better, I think,’ said a weak but cheerful voice from the next room.  ‘Maurice, how is your poor arm? come and tell me.’

“He rose and complied with the request.

“Bianca, the elder sister of Lucia, had been for a year or more the betrothed of Maurice Laborie.  He found her lying pale and languid upon a couch.

“‘What is it, Maurice?’ she asked, presently, noticing his troubled look.

“‘I wish you were well, Bianca.’

“‘Ah!  I am more concerned about your wound.’

“His thoughts seemed far away.  He rose hastily.

“‘I must speak to your grandsire.  I will be in again;’ and he left the room.

“Marc Rozel, the father of Sara Vittoria, a venerable, white-haired veteran who had seen his four-score years and ten, sat at the open door of the cottage, leaning upon his staff, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the towering heights of Mount Vandelin.

“’"As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about His people from henceforth even forever,"’ Maurice heard him murmur as he drew near.

“There was comfort in the words, and the cloud of care partially lifted from the brow of the young Vaudois.  But accosting the aged saint with deep respect, and bending down to speak close to his ear, he uttered a few rapid sentences in an undertone.