"Farewell, my daughter, take courage, and have confidence in God!"
The half-hour had expired, and the step of his terrible conductor was heard approaching.
"I am ready," said the curé, and having allowed his eyes to be covered, he took the arm of the Duke de ——, and left the awful room, praying meanwhile with secret fervor.
Arrived at the foot of the staircase, the old man, succeeded, without his guide's knowledge, in slightly displacing the thick bandage so as to admit a partial ray of lamp light. Finding himself in the carriage gateway, he managed to stumble and fall, with both hands forward toward a dark corner. The duke hastened to raise him, both resumed their places in the carriage, and, after repassing through the same tortuous route, the curé was set down in safety at his own door.
Without one moment's delay, he called his servant.
"Pierre," he said, "arm yourself with a stick, and give me your support; I must instantly go to the minister of police."
Soon afterward the official gate was opened to admit the well-known venerable pastor.
"Monseigneur," he said, addressing the minister, "a terrible deed will speedily be accomplished, if you are not in time to prevent it. Let your agents visit, before daybreak, every carriage gateway in Paris; in the inner angle of one of them will be found a blood-stained handkerchief. The blood is that of a young female, whose murder, already begun, has been miraculously suspended. Her family have condemned their victim to have her veins opened one by one, and thus to perish slowly in expiation of a fault, already more than punished by her mortal agony. Courage, my friend, you have already some hours. May God assist you—I can only pray."
That same morning, at eight o'clock, the minister of police entered the curé's room.
"My friend," said he, "I confess my inferiority, you are able to instruct me in expedients."