"Lacheneur is deaf to my remonstrances and to my entreaties," he
replied, sadly. "Nothing remains for you but to submit, my son. I
shall not tell you that time will assuage the sorrow that now seems
insupportable--you would not believe me. But I do say to you, that you
are a man, and that you must prove your courage. I say even more:
fight against thoughts of Marie-Anne as a traveller on the verge of a
precipice fights against the thought of vertigo."

"Have you seen Marie-Anne, father? Have you spoken to her?"

"I found her even more inflexible than Lacheneur."

"They reject me, and they receive Chanlouineau, perhaps."

"Chanlouineau is living there."

"My God! And Martial de Sairmeuse?"

"He is their familiar guest. I saw him there." That each of these
responses fell upon Maurice like a thunder-bolt was only too evident.

But M. d'Escorval had armed himself with the impassable courage of
a surgeon who does not relax his hold on his instruments because the
patient groans and writhes in agony.

M. d'Escorval wished to extinguish the last ray of hope in the heart of
his son.

"It is evident that Monsieur Lacheneur has lost his reason!" exclaimed
Maurice.