“I told him so, Monsieur, and I shall have the courage to repeat it.”

“But you have made Maurice wretched, unhappy, child; he has almost died.”

She raised her head proudly, sought M. d’Escorval’s eyes, and when she had found them: 

“Look at me, Monsieur.  Do you think that I, too, do not suffer?”

M. d’Escorval was abashed for a moment; but recovering himself, he took Marie-Anne’s hand, and pressing it affectionately, he said: 

“So Maurice loves you; you love him; you suffer; he has nearly died, and still you reject him!”

“It must be so, Monsieur.”

“You say this, my dear child—­you say this, and you undoubtedly believe it.  But I, who have sought to discover the necessity of this immense sacrifice, have failed to find it.  Explain to me, then, why this must be so, Marie-Anne.  Who knows but you are frightened by chimeras, which my experience can scatter with a breath?  Have you no confidence in me?  Am I not an old friend?  It may be that your father, in his despair, has adopted extreme resolutions.  Speak, let us combat them together.  Lacheneur knows how devotedly I am attached to him.  I will speak to him; he will listen to me.”

“I can tell you nothing, Monsieur.”

“What! you are so cruel as to remain inflexible when a father entreats you on his knees—­a father who says to you:  ’Marie-Anne, you hold in your hands the happiness, the life, the reason of my son——­’”

Tears glittered in Marie-Anne’s eyes, but she drew away her hand.

“Ah! it is you who are cruel, Monsieur; it is you who are without pity.  Do you not see what I suffer, and that it is impossible for me to endure further torture?  No, I have nothing to tell you; there is nothing you can say to my father.  Why do you seek to impair my courage when I require it all to struggle against my despair?  Maurice must forget me; he must never see me again.  This is fate; and he must not fight against it.  It would be folly.  We are parted forever.  Beseech Maurice to leave the country, and if he refuses, you, who are his father, must command him to do so.  And you, too, Monsieur, in Heaven’s name, flee from us.  We shall bring misfortune upon you.  Never return here; our house is accursed.  The fate that overshadows us will ruin you also.”

She spoke almost wildly.  Her voice was so loud that it penetrated an adjoining room.

The communicating door opened and M. Lacheneur appeared upon the threshold.

At the sight of M. d’Escorval he uttered an oath.  But there was more sorrow and anxiety than anger in his manner, as he said: 

“You, Monsieur, you here!”

The consternation into which Marie-Anne’s words had thrown M. d’Escorval was so intense that it was with great difficulty he stammered out a response.

“You have abandoned us entirely; I was anxious about you.  Have you forgotten our old friendship?  I come to you——­”