After a moment, the priest divined who the intruder was, though he did not recognize him.
“Jean!” he cried, “Jean Lacheneur!”
With a bound the young man was on his feet, pale and menacing; a flame of anger drying the tears in his eyes.
“Who are you?” he demanded, in a terrible voice. “What are you doing here? What do you wish with me?”
By his peasant dress and by his long beard, the former cure of Sairmeuse was so effectually disguised that he was obliged to tell who he really was.
As soon as he uttered his name, Jean uttered a cry of joy.
“God has sent you here!” he exclaimed. “Marie-Anne cannot be dead! You, who have saved so many others, will save her.”
As the priest sadly pointed to heaven, Jean paused, his face more ghastly than before. He understood now that there was no hope.
“Ah!” he murmured, with an accent of frightful despondency, “fate shows us no mercy. I have been watching over Marie-Anne, though from a distance; and this very evening I was coming to say to her: ‘Beware, sister—be cautious!’”
“What! you knew——”