“Wretch! how dare you!”
Chanlouineau sadly shook his head.
“What is the use of denying it?” said he.
“It was so great a temptation that only an angel could have resisted it. It was not your fault, nor was it hers. Lacheneur was a bad father. There was a day when I wished either to kill myself or to kill you, I knew not which. Ah! only once again will you be as near death as you were that day. You were scarcely five paces from the muzzle of my gun. It was God who stayed my hand by reminding me of her despair. Now that I am to die, as well as Lacheneur, someone must care for Marie-Anne. Swear that you will marry her. You may be involved in some difficulty on account of this affair; but I have here the means of saving you.”
A sound of firing interrupted him; the soldiers of the Duc de Sairmeuse were approaching.
“Good God!” exclaimed Chanlouineau, “and Marie-Anne!”
They rushed in pursuit of her, and Maurice was the first to discover her, standing in the centre of the open space clinging to the neck of her father’s horse. He took her in his arms, trying to drag her away.
“Come!” said he, “come!”
But she refused.
“Leave me, leave me!” she entreated.