"In less than ten minutes the task of removing the chest from the
chateau was accomplished, without a single sound that would betray us.
As I closed the window, I said:

"'It is done, godmother.'

"'God be praised!' she whispered; 'Sairmeuse is saved!'

"I heard a deep sigh. I turned; she was dead."

This scene that M. Lacheneur was relating rose vividly before him.

To feign, to disguise the truth, or to conceal any portion of it was an
impossibility.

He forgot himself and his daughter; he thought only of the dead woman,
of Mlle. Armande de Sairmeuse.

And he shuddered on pronouncing the words: "She was dead." It seemed to
him that she was about to speak, and to insist upon the fulfilment of
his pledge.

After a moment's silence, he resumed, in a hollow voice:

"I called for aid; it came. Mademoiselle Armande was adored by everyone;
there was great lamentation, and a half hour of indescribable confusion
followed her death. I was able to withdraw, unnoticed, to run into
the garden, and to carry away the oaken chest. An hour later, it was
concealed in the miserable hovel in which I dwelt. The following year I
purchased Sairmeuse."