"I know it well," said Lorin; "and that word appalls the bravest heart; but never mind—It is repugnant to my feelings to allow this poor Héloïse to be led to the guillotine without asking her forgiveness."
"What do you wish to do?"
"I wish you to remain here; you have nothing to reproach yourself with, so far as she is concerned. With me, you see, the case is very different. Since I can do nothing for her, I will meet her on her way. I wish to go there, Maurice; do you comprehend me? Were she to give me only a wave of her hand—"
"I will accompany you then," said Maurice.
"Impossible, my friend: you are a municipal, secretary to a section, and you have just been tried, while I have only I been your defender. They would think you guilty, therefore remain here. As for me, it is quite another thing. I risk nothing, and therefore go."
"Go then," said he, "but be prudent."
Lorin smiled, shook Maurice's hand, and left.
Maurice opened his window, and waved a sad adieu; but before Lorin had turned the corner of the street, Maurice could not help gazing wistfully at him more than once, and each time, as if drawn by magnetic influence and sympathy. Lorin turned round, looked at him, and smiled.
At last, when the latter had disappeared at the corner of the quay, Maurice closed the window, threw himself into a fauteuil, and fell into one of those dreamy moods which in people of strong mind and vigorous constitution are often the presentiments of misfortune, as they resemble the calm which is the precursor of the storm. He was softly awakened from his revery, or rather state of stupor, by his official, who, on returning from the execution of some commission, entered with the sprightly air of a servant anxious to communicate his budget of news. Seeing his master preoccupied, however, he dared not interrupt him, and consoled himself by constantly passing and re-passing before him, without any reasonable cause for so doing.
"What is it?" at length said Maurice; "speak, if you have anything to tell me."