“You might say a farewell pardon,” replied the abbe, in a bitter tone, and with a gesture of merciless condemnation.

“What I say is that you are mad!” I cried, “and that if you were not a priest, this hand of mine should crush the life out of you for daring to speak to me in this way.”

“I have but little fear of you, sir,” he rejoined.  “To take my life would be doing me a great service; but I am sorry that your threats and anger should lend weight to the charges under which you lie.  If I saw that you were moved to penitence, I would weep with you; but your assurance fills me with loathing.  Hitherto, I had seen in you nothing worse than a raging lunatic; to-day I seem to see a scoundrel.  Begone, sir!”

I fell into an arm-chair, choking with rage and anguish.  For a moment I hoped that I was about to die.  Edmee was dying by my side, and before me was a judge so firmly convinced of my guilt that his usual gentle, timid nature had become harsh and pitiless.  The imminent loss of her I loved was hurrying me into a longing for death.  Yet the horrible charge hanging over me began to rouse my energies.  I did not believe that such an accusation could stand for a single instant against the voice of truth.  I imagined that one word from me, one look, would be sufficient to make it fall to the ground; but I felt so dazed, so deeply wounded, that this means of defence was denied me.  The more grievously the disgrace of such a suspicion weighed upon my mind, the more clearly I realized that it is almost impossible for a man to defend himself successfully when his only weapon is the pride of slandered innocence.

I sat there overwhelmed, unable to utter a word.  It seemed as if a dome of lead were weighing on my skull.  Suddenly the door opened and Mademoiselle Leblanc approached me stiffly; in a tone full of hatred she informed me that some one outside wished to speak to me.  I went out mechanically, and found Patience waiting with his arms folded, in his most dignified attitude, and with an expression on his face which would have compelled both respect and fear if I had been guilty.

“Monsieur de Mauprat,” he said, “I must request you to grant me a private interview.  Will you kindly follow me to my cottage?”

“Yes, I will,” I replied.  “I am ready to endure any humiliation, if only I can learn what is wanted of me and why you are all pleased to insult the most unfortunate of men.  Lead the way, Patience, and go quickly; I am eager to return here.”

Patience walked in front of me with an impassive air.  When we arrived at his little dwelling, we found my poor sergeant, who had just arrived likewise.  Not finding any horse on which he could follow me, and not wishing to quit me, he had come on foot, and so quickly that he was bathed in perspiration.  Nevertheless, the moment he saw us he sprang up full of life from the bench on which he had thrown himself under the bower of vine-branches, and came to meet us.