being able to realize why.  To crown my misery, a movement that I made caused the knife which I had taken as bedfellow to fall at M. de Mauprat’s feet.  He picked it up, looked at it, and then at myself with extreme surprise.  I turned as red as fire and stammered out I know not what.  I expected he would reprove me for this insult to his hospitality.  However, he was too polite to insist upon a more complete explanation.  He quietly placed the knife on the mantel-piece and, returning to me, spoke as follows: 

“Bernard, I now know that I owe to you the life that I hold dearest in the world.  All my own life shall be devoted to giving you proofs of my gratitude and esteem.  My daughter also is sacredly indebted to you.  You need, then, have no anxiety about your future.  I know what persecution and vengeance you exposed yourself to in coming to us; but I know, too, from what a frightful existence my friendship and devotion will be able to deliver you.  You are an orphan, and I have no son.  Will you have me for your father?”

I stared at the chevalier with wild eyes.  I could not believe my ears.  All feeling within me seemed paralyzed by astonishment and timidity.  I was unable to answer a word.  The chevalier himself evidently felt some astonishment; he had not expected to find a nature so brutishly ill-conditioned.

“Come,” he said; “I hope that you will grow accustomed to us.  At all events, shake hands, to show that you trust me.  I will send up your servant; give him your orders; he is at your disposal.  I have only one promise to exact from you, and that is that you will not go beyond the walls of the park until I have taken steps to make you safe from the pursuit of justice.  At present it is possible that the charges which have been hanging over your uncles’ heads might be made to fall on your own.”

“My uncles!” I exclaimed, putting my hand to my brow.  “Is this all a hideous dream?  Where are they?  What has become of Roche-Mauprat?”

“Roche-Mauprat,” he answered, “has been saved from the flames.  Only a few of the outer buildings have been destroyed; but I undertake to repair the house and to redeem your fief from the creditors who claim it.  As to your uncles . . . you are probably the sole heir of a name that it behoves you to rehabilitate.”

“The sole heir?” I cried.  “Four Mauprats fell last night; but the other three . . .”

“The fifth, Walter, perished in his attempt to escape.  His body was discovered this morning in the pond of Les Froids.  Neither John nor Antony has been caught, but the horse belonging to one and a cloak of the other’s, found near the spot where Walter’s body was lying, seem to hint darkly that their fate was as his.  Even if one of them manages to escape, he will never dare make himself known again, for there would be no hope for him.  And since they have drawn down upon their heads the inevitable storm, it is best, both for themselves