The two men started to their feet, looking at each other as they had looked when Fate and their crimes first brought them together. Yes, it was Sanselme, who had simply changed the letters in his name and become Maslenes, who now spoke to his former associate with such contempt.

And it was Benedetto who sneered and laughed in the face of the man whom at Toulon he had almost hated. They neither of them spoke, but in their faces a strange transformation took place. Sanselme, first so bold, almost arrogant, by degrees began to hang his head, while Benedetto looked more and more triumphant.

"Let us sit down and reason together," he said.

"And why?" answered Sanselme, drearily. "You and I have nothing in common."

"I don't know that!"

"Listen to me for one moment. Our respective positions must be distinctly defined. Fate brought us together—Fate separated us. Neither you nor I desire to awaken all these terrible memories. I now bid you forget my very existence—"

He stopped short. Benedetto had laid his hand on his shoulder.

"And suppose I do not wish to be forgotten by you?" he said, slowly.

Sanselme started and looked at him with a terrified expression.

"I desire quite the contrary, in fact. I wish you to recall every circumstance of our former acquaintance, up to that night at Beausset—"

"For Heaven's sake, say no more!"

"I must, for I need a witness to authenticate certain facts. And that witness must be yourself."

"You forget, I fancy, that were I to reveal the truth the scaffold would be your end!"

"Ah! that is my affair, Sanselme. You have but to answer my questions truly. I rely on you, for really," sneered Benedetto, "you have quite the air of an honest man. You remember. Do you remember the night of the 24th of February, 1839?"

"Am I dreaming?" murmured Sanselme, hiding his face. "Can he really ask such a question?"

"Do you remember the little house behind the church?"

"Yes, yes, I remember."

"A certain person of my acquaintance had a little business to attend to in that house. He was successful, and he carried off a million."

"I know nothing about that!" cried Sanselme, eagerly. And then with a gesture of loathing, he added, "I never saw any of the money."

"I dare say. You were extremely disinterested! I took the money and meant to get away with it quietly, but accident defeated this plan."

"For God's sake, say no more! Have you a heart?"

Benedetto shrugged his shoulders, and continued:

"You know I heard two persons come up the stairs. I hid behind the door with my knife, and when the door opened, I struck at the first person I saw—"

"And it was your mother!"

"Ah! I see your memory is returning. Yes, it was my mother; but how did you know it?"

"I had seen her in the gorge, and she had told me her story and implored me to save her son."

"And did she tell you her name?" asked Benedetto, with some uneasiness.

"She told me all, but I swore never to reveal it to any one."

"And she believed in the oath of a convict?"

"I have kept it, at all events."

"You are a hero! But you can, at least, tell me the name."

"No," answered Sanselme, with energy. "You are planning some new villainy. I shall not tell you!"

Benedetto laughed.

"You must think me very simple. I merely wished to test your memory. The name of this woman was Danglars."

Sanselme uttered an exclamation. He had hoped that his refusal would frustrate some nefarious design.

"Now go," he said, sadly. "You can have nothing more to say to me."

"You are mistaken! One would think that you did not care to see me."

"The truth is, Benedetto, that anything connected with the past is hideously painful to me. I wish to forget."

"You wish to forget, too, that you once tried to kill me."

"Let us say no more about that. Tell me frankly what you want me to do, and if possible I will do it."

"You are becoming more reasonable, Sanselme. But what is that new life of which you speak so glibly and with a certain tenderness in your voice? Perhaps I can guess. She is pretty, that is a fact!"

Sanselme started and took hold of Benedetto's arm.

"Not another word like that, Benedetto! Not if you wish to live!"

"Indeed! What would you do?"

"My fate is in your hands," answered Sanselme. "You can at any moment denounce me as an escaped convict. Do what you please, but you shall not say one word of her who is in this house."

"Upon my word, Sanselme, it seems to me that you carry matters with rather a high hand. Suppose I do not obey you?"

"Then I will denounce you, with the certainty that my arrest will follow yours. You may laugh when I say that in spite of my shameful past I am to-day an honest man, devoting my whole life to a creature who has no one but myself in the world. If she knew who I was she would despise me."

Benedetto listened with his maddening smile. Suddenly he said:

"Have you pen, ink and paper?"

"Yes, I have them. Why?"

"Produce them. I will give my reasons later."

Sanselme produced what was required.

"Very good," said Benedetto. "And now take this pen and oblige me by writing a few lines."

"What shall I write?"

"I will dictate to you, that will be easier.

"On the 24th of February, 1839, Benedetto, an escaped convict from Toulon, assassinated Madame Danglars, his mother."

"But this is horrible! No, I will not write that!"

"You had better do it without further objections. You can sign any name you please."

Sanselme still hesitated.

"No," he said, finally, "I refuse. I of course do not know what use you intend to make of this paper, but I know you. Some infamous machination is on foot which I will not aid."

Benedetto smiled.

"You are far from rich," he said, "for I was at the window some little time before I knocked. I must tell you that Comte Velleni's hÔtel is next this, and I had not the smallest difficulty in coming here."

Sanselme glanced at the trunk that contained his scanty means.

"Precisely," said Benedetto, "a few louis and two or three bits of paper."

"I ask nothing from you."

"But I offer these." And Benedetto took from an elegant portfolio ten bank notes of one thousand francs each, and spread them out on the bed. "Write what I bid you and this money is yours."

Sanselme turned very pale. It seemed as if Benedetto was his evil genius—his tempter. He instantly realized what this sum would do for her whose welfare was his perpetual anxiety.

"Will you write?"

Sanselme dipped his pen into the ink and began. Some instinct warned him that he was doing wrong. He acted without volition of his own, and simply in obedience to another, it is true, and it seemed to him that he himself risked nothing, for he simply told the truth, and yet he was troubled. Had Sanselme been alone in the world with no one but himself to care for he might not have been so strict, for he had run many risks in his life. But he felt that this was something wrong, and that evil consequences would alight on not only himself, but her. The money fascinated him, however. He wrote a few words, and then, dashing down the pen, started up.

"No, I will not write. Take away your money, Benedetto, it will bring me misfortune."

Benedetto uttered a furious oath. Then seizing a pen he himself wrote a couple of lines. Laying the paper before Sanselme, he said, "You will write just what I say, or I will send this!"

The two lines commenced thus: "She who bears the name of Jane Zeld, is—"

Sanselme read no more. With a cry of rage he sprang at Benedetto, who thrust him back fiercely.

"No more of this nonsense!" he said. "Either you write, or I do, and my words shall appear in three of the most prominent Parisian journals."

Sanselme, with haggard eyes, did not seem to hear. Then suddenly he seized the pen and wrote what Benedetto required.

"If I give you this paper," he said, hoarsely, "will you swear by—good heavens! He believes in nothing! What will he swear by?"

"My dear fellow, I have not the smallest interest in troubling your repose. This is better than any oath," said Benedetto.

Sanselme made no further resistance.

Benedetto looked at the paper. "The fool has signed his own name!" he said to himself. "But it may be better, after all!" And in another moment Benedetto vanished through the window.

Sanselme sat motionless for some time, then his wandering eyes fell on the bank-notes. He snatched them up.

"We must fly!" he said aloud. "He knows all, and there is not a moment to lose. Jane—my Jane! Yes, she will consent, I am sure. We will take the seven o'clock train to Havre, and then will go to America. There she will lead a new life!" He looked around the room.

"My baggage," he said to himself, "will not be much of a hindrance; but Jane must be aroused at once. What shall I say to her? What reason shall I give? Pshaw! she will require none. Besides, there is nothing to keep us in Paris."

With infinite caution he opened the door and stole down the stairs, feeling his way along the corridor in the darkness, until he reached Jane's door, which he found open.

Sanselme was aghast. The chamber was empty.

Sanselme, with a frightful imprecation, rushed down stairs; the street door was open. Half mad, Sanselme went out into the street.