“Yes, sir, and you know that what I intend, I firmly carry out.”

“Well!  I can only conjure you not to follow out this idea,” replied the doctor, in a still more solemn tone; “I ask it as a favor, in the name of your own interest.”

“I think, sir, that you are a little too ready to confound your interest with mine.”

“Now come,” said Dr. Baleinier, with a feigned impatience, as if quite certain of convincing Mdlle. de Cardoville on the instant; “would you have the melancholy courage to plunge into despair two persons full of goodness and generosity?”

“Only two?  The jest would be complete, if you were to reckon three:  you, sir, and my aunt, and Abbe d’Aigrigny; for these are no doubt the generous persons in whose name you implore my pity.”

“No, madame; I speak neither of myself, nor of your aunt, nor of Abbe d’Aigrigny.”

“Of whom, then, sir?” asked Mdlle. de Cardoville with surprise.

“Of two poor fellows, who, no doubt sent by those whom you call your friends, got into the neighboring convent the other night, and thence into this garden.  The guns which you heard go off were fired at them.”

“Alas!  I thought so.  They refused to tell me if either of them was wounded,” said Adrienne, with painful emotion.

“One of them received a wound, but not very serious, since he was able to fly and escape pursuit.”

“Thank God!” cried Mdlle. de Cardoville, clasping her hands with fervor.

“It is quite natural that you should rejoice at their escape, but by what strange contradiction do you now wish to put the officers of justice on their track?  A singular manner, truly, of rewarding their devotion!”

“What do you say, sir?” asked Mdlle. de Cardoville.

“For if they should be arrested,” resumed Dr. Baleinier, without answering her, “as they have been guilty of housebreaking and attempted burglary, they would be sent to the galleys.”

“Heavens! and for my sake!”

“Yes; it would be for you, and what is worse, by you, that they would be condemned.”

“By me, sir?”

“Certainly; that is, if you follow up your vengeance against your aunt and Abbe d’Aigrigny—­I do not speak of myself, for I am quite safe; in a word, if you persist in laying your complaint before the magistrates, that you have been unjustly confined in this house.”

“I do not understand you, sir.  Explain yourself,” said Adrienne, with growing uneasiness.

“Child that you are!” cried the Jesuit of the short robe, with an air of conviction; “do you think that if the law once takes cognizance of this affair, you can stop short its action where and when you please?  When you leave this house, you lodge a complaint against me and against your family; well, what happens?  The law interferes, inquires, calls witnesses, enters into the most minute investigations.  Then, what follows?  Why, that this nocturnal