“No, Madame, no! Am I not here? I will appear before the tribunal, and I shall say: ‘Here I am! I have seen and I know all.’”
“But they will arrest you, alas, Monsieur, because you are not a priest according to the hearts of these cruel men. They will throw you in prison, and you, will meet him upon the scaffold.”
Maurice had been listening, pale and trembling.
But on hearing these last words, he sank upon his knees, hiding his face in his hands:
“Ah! I have killed my father!” he exclaimed.
“Unhappy child! what do you say?”
The priest motioned him to be silent; but he did not see him, and he pursued:
“My father was ignorant even of the existence of this conspiracy of which Monsieur Lacheneur was the guiding spirit; but I knew it—I wished him to succeed, because on his success depended the happiness of my life. And then—wretch that I was!—when I wished to attract to our ranks some timid or wavering accomplice, I used the loved and respected name of d’Escorval. Ah, I was mad! I was mad!”
Then, with a despairing gesture, he added:
“And yet, even now, I have not the courage to curse my folly! Oh, mother, mother, if you knew——”