“If I stood on the scaffold,” said she, “I would tell the story about M. Paul exactly as I have been taught.”

Her tone was so sincere, that Tantaine addressed her in a kindlier voice.

“Stick to that,” said he, “and I can say to you, ‘Hope.’  Upon the day on which the young man’s business is settled you will get a paper from me, which will prove your complete innocence, and enable you to say, ’I have been grossly maligned.’”

“May the dear young man’s business be settled sharp,” said she.

“It will not be long before it is so; but, remember, in the meantime you must keep an eye upon him.”

“I will do so.”

“And, remember, report to me whoever comes to see him, no matter who it may be.”

“Not a soul can go upstairs without my seeing or hearing him.”

“Well, if any one, save the master, Dr. Hortebise, or myself comes, do not lose a moment, but come and report.”

“You shall know in five minutes.”

“I wonder if that is all I have to say?” mused Tantaine.  “Ah!  I remember:  note exactly the hour at which this young man comes and goes.  Do not have any conversation with him; answer all questions he addresses you with a simple ‘Yes,’ or ‘No,’ and, as I said before, watch his every movement.”

And Tantaine turned to go away, paying no attention to the woman’s eager protestations.

“Keep a strict watch,” were his last words, “and, above all, see that the lad gets into no scrape.”

In Tantaine’s presence Paul had endeavored to assume an air of bravado, but as soon as he was left alone he was seized with such mortal terror, that he sank in a half fainting condition into an easy-chair.  He felt that he was not going to put on a disguise for a brief period, but for life, and that now, though he rose in life, wealth, title, even a wife would all have been obtained by a shameful and skilfully planned deception, and this deception he must keep up until the day of his death.  He shuddered as he recalled Tantaine’s words, “Paul Violaine is dead.”  He recalled the incidents in the life of the escaped galley-slave Coignard, who, under the name of Pontis de St. Helene, absolutely assumed the rank of a general officer, and took command of a domain.  Coignard was recognized and betrayed by an old fellow-prisoner, and this was exactly the risk that Paul knew he must run, for any of his old companions might recognize and denounce him.  Had he on such an occasion sufficient presence of mind to turn laughingly to his accuser, and say, “Really, my good fellow, you are in error, for I never set eyes on you before?”