All the dreams of his life, all his future plans, were based upon his
love for Marie-Anne.

If this love failed him, the enchanted castle which hope had erected
would crumble and fall, burying him in the ruins.

Without Marie-Anne he saw neither aim nor motive in his existence. Still
he did not suffer himself to be deluded by false hopes. Although at
first, his appointed meeting with Marie-Anne on the following day
seemed salvation itself, on reflection he was forced to admit that this
interview would change nothing, since everything depended upon the will
of another party--the will of M. Lacheneur.

The remainder of the day he passed in mournful silence. The dinner-hour
came; he took his seat at the table, but it was impossible for him
to swallow a morsel, and he soon requested his parents' permission to
withdraw.

M. d'Escorval and the baroness exchanged a sorrowful glance, but did not
allow themselves to offer any comment.

They respected his grief. They knew that his was one of those sorrows
which are only aggravated by any attempt at consolation.

"Poor Maurice!" murmured Mme. d'Escorval, as soon as her son had left
the room. And, as her husband made no reply: "Perhaps," she added,
hesitatingly, "perhaps it will not be prudent for us to leave him too
entirely to the dictates of his despair."

The baron shuddered. He divined only too well the terrible apprehensions