“Suppose I were to beg you not to go,” resumed Mlle. Gilberte.  “Suppose I beseeched you, Marius!”

“I should remain then,” he answered in a troubled voice; “but I would be betraying my duty, and failing to my honor; and remorse would weigh upon our whole life.  Command now, and I will obey.”

They had stopped; and no one seeing them standing there side by side affectionate and familiar could have believed that they were speaking to each other for the first time.  They themselves did not notice it, so much had they come, with the help of all-powerful imagination, and in spite of separation, to the understanding of intimacy.  After a moment of painful reflection,

“I do not ask you any longer to stay,” uttered the young girl.  He took her hand, and raised it to his lips.

“I expected no less of your courage,” he said, his voice vibrating with love.  But he controlled himself, and, in a more quiet tone,

“Thanks to the indiscretion of Pulei,” he added, “I was in hopes of seeing you, but not to have the happiness of speaking to you.  I had written—­”

He drew from his pocket a large envelope, and, handing it to Mlle. Gilberte,

“Here is the letter,” he continued, “which I intended for you.  It contains another, which I beg you to preserve carefully, and not to open unless I do not return.  I leave you in Paris a devoted friend, the Count de Villegre.  Whatever may happen to you, apply to him with all confidence, as you would to myself.”

Mlle. Gilberte, staggering, leaned against the wall.

“When do you expect to leave?” she inquired.

“This very night.  Communications may be cut off at any moment.”

Admirable in her sorrow, but also full of energy, the poor girl looked up, and held out her hand to him.

“Go then,” she said, “O my only friend! go, since honor commands.  But do not forget that it is not your life alone that you are going to risk.”

And, fearing to burst into sobs, she fled, and reached the Rue St. Gilles a few moments before her father, who had gone out in quest of news.

Those he brought home were of the most sinister kind.

Like the rising tide, the Prussians spread and advanced, slowly, but steadily.  Their marches were numbered; and the day and hour could be named when their flood would come and strike the walls of Paris.

And so, at all the railroad stations, there was a prodigious rush of people who wished to leave at any cost, in any way, in the baggage-car if needs be, and who certainly were not, like Marius, rushing to meet the enemy.

One after another, M. Favoral had seen nearly every one he knew take flight.

The Baron and Baroness de Thaller and their daughter had gone to Switzerland; M. Costeclar was traveling in Belgium; the elder Jottras was in England, buying guns and cartridge; and if the younger Jottras, with M. Saint Pavin of “The Financial Pilot,” remained in Paris, it was because, through the gallant influence of a lady whose name was not mentioned, they had obtained some valuable contracts from the government.