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Delirium peopled his brain with phantoms; and the name of Marie-Anne, Martial de Sairmeuse and Chanlouineau dropped so incoherently from his lips that it was impossible to read his thoughts. How long that night seemed to M. d'Escorval and his wife, those only know who have counted each second beside the sick-bed of some loved one.
He conceded the point, smiling a bit grimly as he continued to study that part of the cabin which he could see from his pillow. He had lost interest temporarily at least in Black Roger Audemard. Not long ago the one question to which, above all others, he had desired an answer was, why had Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain worked so desperately to kill him and so hard to save him afterward?
Maurice having finished his repast was just leaving the table to settle with the hostess, when a despairing cry arrested him. Marie-Anne, deadly pale, and with eyes staring wildly at a paper which she held in her hand, exclaimed in frenzied tones: "Here! Maurice! Look!" It was a French journal about a fortnight old, which had probably been left there by some traveller.
I declared that he was fighting against the troops by my side; I demanded that he should be summoned before the tribunal; I told them that I had in my possession unquestionable proofs of his complicity." "Did you say that the Marquis de Sairmeuse had been wounded?" inquired Marie-Anne. Chanlouineau's face betrayed the most intense astonishment. "What!" he exclaimed, "you do not know "
He was looking at Marie-Anne; and she seemed to him transfigured. She was much paler and considerably thinner; but her beauty had a strange and touching charm the sublime radiance of heroic resignation and of duty nobly fulfilled. Still, remembering his son, he was astonished to see this tranquillity. "You do not ask me for news of Maurice," he said, reproachfully.
He departed; but it was not long before he reappeared, transformed by a peasant's costume, which fitted him perfectly. His small, thin face was almost hidden beneath an immense broad-brimmed hat. "Now, steady, forward, march!" he said to Maurice and Marie-Anne, who scarcely recognized him in this disguise. The town, which they soon reached, was called Saliente.
The young farmer paused to take breath, then said, more slowly: "Marie-Anne, your father and I have misjudged your brother. Poor Jean's appearance is terribly against him. His face indicates a treacherous, cowardly nature, his smile is cunning, and his eyes always shun yours. We have distrusted him, but we should ask his pardon. A man who fights as I saw him fight, is deserving of confidence.
But it was not a saviour, for he did not answer the appeal. But even though there had been aid near at hand, it would have come too late. Marie-Anne felt that there was no longer any hope for her, and that it was the chill of death which was creeping up to her heart. She felt that her life was fast ebbing away.
"Ah! so Marie-Anne had a child," he said, as they hurried on. "She was pretending to be such a saint! But where the devil has she put it?" "I shall find it." "Hum! That is easier said than done." A shrill laugh, resounding in the darkness, interrupted him. He released his hold on the arm of Blanche and assumed an attitude of defence. Vain precaution!
Something was bound to happen when they got ashore. The peculiar glow of the fires had puzzled him. Now he began to understand. Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain's men were camped in the edge of the tar-sands and had lighted a number of natural gas-jets that came up out of the earth. Many times he had seen fires like these burning up and down the Three Rivers.
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