Monsieur Nicolas rose hastily and left the room.

“Do not ever mention the penalty of death again before Monsieur Nicolas,” said Monsieur Alain.  “He recognized in a criminal at whose execution he was officially present his natural son.”

“And the son was innocent!” added Monsieur Joseph.

Madame de la Chanterie, who had been absent for a while, returned to the salon at this moment.

“But you must admit,” said Godefroid, addressing Monsieur Joseph, “that society cannot exist without the death penalty, and that those persons who to-morrow morning will have their heads cut—­”

Godefroid felt his mouth suddenly closed by a vigorous hand, and he saw the abbe leading away Madame de la Chanterie in an almost fainting condition.

“What have you done?” Monsieur Joseph said to him.  “Take him away, Alain!” he added, removing the hand with which he had gagged Godefroid.  Then he followed the Abbe de Veze into Madame de la Chanterie’s room.

“Come!” said Monsieur Alain to Godefroid; “you have made it essential that I should tell you the secrets of Madame’s life.”

They were presently sitting in the old man’s room.

“Well?” said Godefroid, whose face showed plainly his regret for having been the cause of something which, in that peaceful home, might be called a catastrophe.

“I am waiting till Manon comes to reassure us,” replied the goodman, listening to the steps of the maid upon the staircase.

“Madame is better,” said Manon.  “Monsieur l’abbe has deceived her as to what was said.”  And she looked at Godefroid angrily.

“Good God!” cried the poor fellow, in distress, the tears coming into his eyes.

“Come, sit down,” said Monsieur Alain, sitting down himself.  Then he made a pause as if to gather up his ideas.  “I don’t know,” he went on, “if I have the talent to worthily relate a life so cruelly tried.  You must excuse me if the words of so poor a speaker as I are beneath the level of its actions and catastrophes.  Remember that it is long since I left school, and that I am the child of a century in which men cared more for thought than for effect,—­a prosaic century which knew only how to call things by their right names.”

Godefroid made an acquiescing gesture, with an expression of sincere admiration, and said simply, “I am listening.”

“You have just had a proof, my young friend,” resumed the old man, “that it is impossible you should remain among us without knowing at least some of the terrible facts in the life of that saintly woman.  There are ideas and illusions and fatal words which are completely interdicted in this house, lest they reopen wounds in Madame’s heart, and cause a suffering which, if again renewed, might kill her.”

“Good God!” cried Godefroid, “what have I done?”

“If Monsieur Joseph had not stopped the words on your lips, you were about to speak of that fatal instrument of death, and that would have stricken down Madame de la Chanterie like a thunderbolt.  It is time you should know all, for you will really belong to us before long,—­we all think so.  Here, then, is the history of her life:—­