trembling hand. The unhappy man was watched and examined; his glance
was particularly spied upon; would his eyes rove in search of some one
in the crowd or in a house? His discretion did, as a matter of fact,
hold firm to the last. He died as a Christian should, repentant and
absolved.

The poor rector was carried away unconscious from the foot of the
scaffold, though he did not even see the fatal knife.

During the following night, on the high-road fifteen miles from
Limoges, Denise, though nearly exhausted by fatigue and grief, begged
her father to let her go again to Limoges and take with her
Louis-Marie Tascheron, one of her brothers.

"What more have you to do in that town?" asked her father, frowning.

"Father," she said, "not only must we pay the lawyer who defended him,
but we must also restore the money which he has hidden."

"You are right," said the honest man, pulling out a leathern pouch he
carried with him.

"No, no," said Denise, "he is no longer your son. It is not for those
who cursed him, but for those who loved him, to reward the lawyer."

"We will wait for you at Havre," said the father.

Denise and her brother returned to Limoges before daylight. When the
police heard, later, of this return they were never able to discover
where the brother and sister had hidden themselves.