After a few minutes, Lucile made a violent effort to compose herself, wiped the moisture from her pallid forehead and dried the tears which still hung upon her lashes.  Then she rose from her chair and walked resolutely up to the desk.

“I will write the letter,” she said simply.

Lebel gave a snort of satisfaction; but the other did not move from his position near the window.  The boy, Etienne, had uttered a cry of passionate protest.

“Do not give M. le Marquis away, Lucile!” he said hotly.  “I am not afraid to die.”

But Lucile had made up her mind.  How could she do otherwise, with these awful threats hanging over them all?  She and Etienne and poor father gone, and the two young ones in one of those awful Houses of Correction, where children were taught to hate the Church, to shun the Sacraments, and to blaspheme God!

“What am I to write?” she asked dully, resolutely closing her ears against her brother’s protest.

Lebel pushed pen, ink and paper towards her and she sat down, ready to begin.

“Write!” now came in a curt command from the man at the window.  And Lucile wrote at his dictation: 

“Monsieur le Marquis,—­We are in grave trouble.  My brother Etienne and I have been arrested on a charge of treason.  This means the guillotine for us and for poor father, who can no longer speak; and the two little ones are to be sent to one of those dreadful Houses of Correction, where children are taught to deny God and to blaspheme.  You alone can save us, M. le Marquis; and I beg you on my knees to do it.  The citizen Commissary here says that you have in your possession certain papers which are of great value to the State, and that if I can persuade you to give these up, Etienne, father and I and the little ones will be left unmolested.  M. le Marquis, you once said that you could never adequately repay my poor father for all his devotion in your service.  You can do it now, M. le Marquis, by saving us all.  I will be at the chateau a week from to-day.  I entreat you, M. le Marquis, to come to me then and to bring the papers with you; or if you can devise some other means of sending the papers to me, I will obey your behests.—­I am, M. le Marquis’ faithful and devoted servant,
                                      Lucile Clamette.”

The pen dropped from the unfortunate girl’s fingers.  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed convulsively.  The children were silent, awed and subdued—­tired out, too.  Only Etienne’s dark eyes were fixed upon his sister with a look of mute reproach.

Lebel had made no attempt to interrupt the flow of his colleague’s dictation.  Only once or twice did a hastily smothered “What the —–­ !” of astonishment escape his lips.  Now, when the letter was finished and duly signed, he drew it to him and strewed the sand over it.  Chauvelin, more impassive than ever, was once more gazing out of the window.