Simon followed his wife into the house. She closed the door behind her. Simon was struck by the strange expression in her face. Was it anxiety for him that had clouded that placid brow?

"Friend," said FranÇoise, "you must know all. I saw that Austrian officer from the window, and recognized him—"

"Recognized him!"

"Yes, for the man who dishonored my sister that fatal night of the 16th of May, 1804, at Sachemont, was not alone. He was accompanied by the Count of Karlstein, the man whom you have just seen. I cannot dwell upon the terrors of that night. I escaped—but my poor sister! Nor did I ever speak of that man to you. I felt that Talizac was enough for us to hate."

"Yes, dear, I see; and I, too, have something to tell, for, when after long months in the hospital at Dresden, I was permitted to leave it, I wandered, I know not where; but I reached a hut—it was in February, 1805—I saw a light and knocked. There was no answer, and I opened the door and went in. To my horror, I beheld a woman dead, and heard an infant screaming its heart out."

"Poor little Jacques!" said FranÇoise, weeping.

"I saw a cup of milk on the table; I gave some to the infant. Presently you came in, and did not seem astonished to find the child in my arms. The physician you had gone to seek looked at the poor woman, said she was dead, and that he could do nothing. We were left alone together. It seemed as if you trusted me at once. Your hands trembled, and it was I who closed the eyes of the dead. The next day we followed the poor girl to the grave, and when one of the rough peasants who bore the bier on which she lay, asked you who I was, you answered simply, 'A friend!'

"After we returned to the hut, I asked you who the dead girl was, and then you pronounced the name of Talizac, and heard that a gentleman of France had conducted himself like a base coward—"

"But an honorable man said to me, 'Shall we repair the crime of another? Shall we not give this little one a home and a family?' I became your wife, your happy, honored companion, and poor Jacques will never know that he owes his life to a base profligate."

Simon laid his hand on his wife's head.

"Do you know why Simon FougÈre wished to make reparation for the crime of the Vicomte de Talizac?"

"Because Simon FougÈre had a loyal and generous heart!"

"Because," said Simon, in solemn tones, "because the Vicomte de Talizac is my brother!"

"Your brother! But who, then, are you?"

"The son of the Marquis de Fongereues," and in a few words Simon explained to his wife the situation already known to our readers.

"I reproach myself," concluded Simon, "for having so long concealed my name from you. I have not seen my father since I was a boy. I am indebted to him for a few years of happiness, but he was under the influence of others who awakened in him the pride of race. He has forgotten the Republican soldier, and has never cared to know whether I lived or died, since the day that he offered me a princely fortune, rank and title, to fight against France. But to return to this man, you are sure he is the friend and accomplice of Talizac?"

"I am sure."

"I have never seen my brother, but I know him to be one of the bitterest enemies France has. He has fought against us, and I have heard that he is nearly ruined. Painful as such suspicions are, I am tempted to believe that the appearance of this Karlstein in this out of the way place, is due to the fact that this renegade brother of mine has hunted me up, knowing that at my father's death I can claim my inheritance. I feel as if we were the cause of this attack on Leigoutte, which is really directed on the heir of the Fongereueses."

"Horrible!" murmured FranÇoise.

"Yes, this officer asked me if this inn belonged to me. Dear wife, it is now doubly our duty to take every measure for the protection of these people. You must take the children away. I must remain with these peasants. I wish you to go to the farm of old Father LasvÈne—"

"Yes, I know, a league away, in the Outremont gorge."

"I will take you there. LasvÈne is a man of sense, and will not be guilty of any imprudence."

Suddenly Francinette, who was looking out of a window, uttered a shrill cry, and ran to her mother.

"What is it?" exclaimed Simon, rushing to the window, which he threw open, but could see nothing.

FranÇoise soothed the little girl and questioned her.

The child, still wild with fear, pointed to the window. "A man! a bad man!"

The father lifted her in his arms.

"No, no," he said, "little Francinette was dreaming. There was no one there!"

"Yes, I saw him; he climbed over the wall!"

Simon took his gun and went out. Presently he returned, and with a look towards his wife that contradicted his words, he said, "No, it is nothing."

At the same time he wrote a few words on a bit of paper, and laid it on the table near his wife. This is what she read:

"The child is right; there are footprints on the wall—a spy undoubtedly." He said aloud: "And now, wife, make haste; there is no time to lose. Francinette, go to the other window and see if your brother is anywhere about. And FranÇoise," Simon continued rapidly, "I do not think that our separation will last long, yet it is well to be prepared for everything. All my secret and family papers are in this portfolio. Take every care of it. And now, kiss me—let no one see you weep!"

Michel and Jacques now entered.

"Well, Michel, what think you of our recruits?" asked Simon, cheerfully.

"Oh, they are born soldiers, and your boy Jacques is as bright as a button!"

Simon drew his child toward him.

"My boy, I meant to take your mother and sister to some place of safety, but I am needed here. You must go in my stead."

"Am I not to remain with you, father?" asked the boy, greatly disappointed.

"No—you are to take care of all that is most precious to me in the world. God bless you all!"