He had reached the Borderie, and was about going upstairs, when he thought he heard the sound of voices in the back room.

“That is strange,” he said to himself.  “Who can it be?”

And impelled by curiosity, he went and tapped upon the communicating door.

The abbe instantly made his appearance, hurriedly closing the door behind him.  He was very pale, and visibly agitated.

“Who is it?” inquired Jean, eagerly.

“It is—­it is.  Guess who it is.”

“How can I guess?”

“Maurice d’Escorval and Corporal Bavois.”

“My God!”

“And it is a miracle that he has not been upstairs.”

“But whence does he come?  Why have we received no news of him?”

“I do not know.  He has been here only five minutes.  Poor boy! after I told him that his father was safe, his first words were:  ’And Marie-Anne?’ He loves her more devotedly than ever.  He comes with his heart full of her, confident and hopeful; and I tremble—­I fear to tell him the truth.”

“Oh, terrible! terrible!”

“I have warned you; be prudent—­and now, come in.”

They entered the room together; and Maurice and the old soldier greeted Jean with the most ardent expressions of friendship.

They had not seen each other since the duel on the Reche, which had been interrupted by the arrival of the soldiers; and when they parted that day they scarcely expected to meet again.

“And now we are together once more,” said Maurice, gayly, “and we have nothing to fear.”

Never had the unfortunate man seemed so cheerful; and it was with the most jubilant air that he explained the reason of his long silence.

“Three days after we crossed the frontier,” said he, “Corporal Bavois and I reached Turin.  It was time, for we were tired out.  We went to a small inn, and they gave us a room with two beds.

“That evening, while we were undressing, the corporal said to me:  ’I am capable of sleeping two whole days without waking.’  I, too, promised myself a rest of at least twelve hours.  We reckoned without our host, as you will see.

“It was scarcely daybreak when we were awakened by a great tumult.  A dozen rough-looking men entered our room, and ordered us, in Italian, to dress ourselves.  They were too strong for us, so we obeyed; and an hour later we were in prison, confined in the same cell.  Our reflections, I confess, were not couleur de rose.

“I well remember how the corporal said again and again, in that cool way of his:  ’It will require four days to obtain our extradition, three days to take us back to Montaignac—­that is seven days; it will take one day more to try me; so I have in all eight days to live.’”

“Upon my word! that was exactly what I thought,” said the old soldier, approvingly.

“For five months,” continued Maurice, “instead of saying ‘good-night’ to each other, we said:  ‘To-morrow they will come for us.’  But they did not come.