He added a few words in a low voice, then left the room as abruptly as he had entered it.

The departing footsteps of the soldiers were soon lost in the stillness of the night, and then the corporal gave vent to his disgust in a frightful oath.

“Hein!” said he, to his men, “you have heard that cadet.  Listen, watch, arrest, report.  So he takes us for spies!  Ah! if our old leader knew to what base uses his old soldiers were degraded!”

The two men responded by a sullen growl.

“As for you,” pursued the old trooper, addressing Maurice and the abbe, “I, Bavois, corporal of grenadiers, declare in my name and in that of my two men, that you are as free as birds, and that we shall arrest no one.  More than that, if we can aid you in any way, we are at your service.  The little fool that commanded us this evening thought we were fighting.  Look at my gun; I have not fired a shot from it; and my comrades fired only blank cartridges.”

The man might possibly be sincere, but it was scarcely probable.

“We have nothing to conceal,” replied the cautious priest.

The old corporal gave a knowing wink.

“Ah! you distrust me!  You are wrong; and I am going to prove it.  Because, you see, though it is easy to gull that fool who just left here, it is not so easy to deceive Corporal Bavois.  Very well! it was scarcely prudent to leave in the court-yard a gun that certainly had not been charged for firing at swallows.”

The cure and Maurice exchanged a glance of consternation.  Maurice now recollected, for the first time, that when he sprang from the carriage to lift out Marie-Anne, he propped his loaded gun against the wall.  It had escaped the notice of the servants.

“Secondly,” pursued Bavois, “there is someone concealed in the attic.  I have excellent ears.  Thirdly, I arranged it so that no one should enter the sick lady’s room.”

Maurice needed no further proof.  He extended his hand to the corporal, and, in a voice trembling with emotion, he said: 

“You are a brave man!”

A few moments later, Maurice, the abbe, and Mme. d’Escorval were again assembled in the drawing-room, deliberating upon the measures which must be taken, when Marie-Anne appeared.

She was still frightfully pale; but her step was firm, her manner quiet and composed.

“I must leave this house,” she said to the baroness.  “Had I been conscious, I would never have accepted hospitality which is likely to bring dire misfortune on your family.  Alas! your acquaintance with me has cost you too many tears and too much sorrow already.  Do you understand now why I wished you to regard us as strangers?  A presentiment told me that my family would be fatal to yours!”

“Poor child!” exclaimed Mme. d’Escorval; “where will you go?”

Marie-Anne lifted her beautiful eyes to the heaven in which she placed her trust.