“Remember, if I die and he asks you to follow him, you will be an infamous creature if you obey him.  He is a man to glory in you; that is easy enough to see.  He is a man who would drag you after him—­”

“Oh! have pity—­I shall die—­”

Clemence closed her eyes and her lips twitched convulsively.

The first rays of the morning sun fell upon another scene in the opposite wing of the chateau.  Marillac was quietly sleeping the sleep of the just when he was suddenly awakened by a shaking that nearly threw him out of his bed.

“Go to the devil!” he said, angrily, when he succeeded in half opening his heavy eyes, and recognized Gerfaut standing beside his bed.

“Get up!” said the latter, taking him by the arm to give more force to his command.

The artist covered himself with the clothes up to his chin.

“Are you walking in your sleep or insane?” asked Marillac, “or do you want me to go to work?” he added, as he saw that his friend had some papers in his hand.  “You know very well I never have any ideas when fasting, and that I am stupid until noon.”

“Get up at once!” said Gerfaut, “I must have a talk with you.”

There was something so serious and urgent in Gerfaut’s accent as he said these words, that the artist got up at once and hurriedly dressed himself.

“What is the matter?” he asked, as he put on his dressing-gown, “you look as if the affairs of the nation rested upon you.”

“Put on your coat and boots,” said Octave, “you must go to La Fauconnerie.  They are used to seeing you go out early in the morning for your appointments with Reine, and therefore—­”

“It is to this shepherdess you would send me!” interrupted the artist, as he began to undress himself; “in that case I will go to bed again.  Enough of that!”

“I am to fight with Bergenheim at nine o’clock!” said Gerfaut, in a low voice.

“Stupendous!” exclaimed Marillac, as he jumped back a few steps, and then stood as motionless as a statue.  Without wasting any time in unnecessary explanations, his friend gave him a brief account of the night’s events.

“Now,” said he, “I need you; can I count upon your friendship?”

“In life and in death!” exclaimed Marillac, and he pressed his hand with the emotion that the bravest of men feel at the approach of a danger which threatens one who is dear to them.

“Here,” said Gerfaut, as he handed him the papers in his hand, “is a letter for you in which you will find my instructions in full; they will serve you as a guide, according to circumstances.  This sealed paper will be deposited by you in the office of the public prosecutor at Nancy, under certain circumstances which my note explains.  Finally, this is my will.  I have no very near relative; I have made you my heir.