left in your charge, and that you cannot produce them. Now, listen to me: if you refuse to give any explanation in the matter, it is you alone that will be accused of their disappearance. I shall be obliged, though with great regret, to take you into custody.'
'Me!' cried Frances, with the utmost alarm.
'Her!' exclaimed Dagobert; 'never! It is her confessor that I accuse, not my poor wife. Take her into custody, indeed!' He ran towards her, as if he would protect her.
'It is too late, sir,' said the commissary. 'You have made your charge for the abduction of these two young ladies. According to your wife's own declaration, she alone is compromised up to this point. I must take her before the Public Prosecutor, who will decide what course to pursue.'
'And I say, sir,' cried Dagobert, in a menacing tone, 'that my wife shall not stir from this room.'
'Sir,' said the commissary coolly, 'I can appreciate your feelings; but, in the interest of justice, I would beg you not to oppose a necessary measure—a measure which, moreover, in ten minutes it would be quite impossible for you to prevent.'
These words, spoken with calmness, recalled the soldier to himself. 'But, sir,' said he, 'I do not accuse my wife.''
'Never mind, my dear—do not think of me!' said Frances, with the angelic resignation of a martyr. 'The Lord is still pleased to try me sorely; but I am His unworthy servant, and must gratefully resign myself to His will. Let them arrest me, if they choose; I will say no more in prison than I have said already on the subject of those poor children.'
'But, sir,' cried Dagobert, 'you see that my wife is out of her head. You cannot arrest her.'
'There is no charge, proof, or indication against the other person whom you accuse, and whose character should be his protection. If I take your wife, she may perhaps be restored to you after a preliminary examination. I regret,' added the commissary, in a tone of pity, 'to have to execute such a mission, at the very moment when your son's arrest—'
'What!' cried Dagobert, looking with speechless astonishment at his wife and Mother Bunch; 'what does he say? my son?'
'You were not then aware of it? Oh, sir, a thousand pardons!' said the magistrate, with painful emotion. 'It is distressing to make you such a communication.'
'My son!' repeated Dagobert, pressing his two hands to his forehead. 'My son! arrested!'
'For a political offence of no great moment,' said the commissary.
'Oh! this is too much. All comes on me at once!' cried the soldier, falling overpowered into a chair, and hiding his face with his hands.
After a touching farewell, during which, in spite of her terror, Frances remained faithful to the vow she had made to the Abbe Dubois—Dagobert, who had refused to give evidence against his wife, was left leaning upon a table, exhausted by contending emotions, and could not help explaining: 'Yesterday, I had with me my wife, my son, my two poor orphans—and now—I am alone—alone!'
The moment he pronounced these words, in a despairing tone, a mild sad voice was heard close behind him, saying timidly: 'M. Dagobert, I am here; if you will allow me, I will remain and wait upon you.'
It was Mother Bunch!
Trusting that the reader's sympathy is with the old soldier thus left desolate, with Agricola in his prison, Adrienne in hers, the madhouse, and Rose and Blanche Simon in theirs, the nunnery; we hasten to assure him (or her, as the case may be), that not only will their future steps be traced, but the dark machinations of the Jesuits, and the thrilling scenes in which new characters will perform their varied parts, pervaded by the watching spirit of the Wandering Jew, will be revealed in Part Second of this work, entitled: THE CHASTISEMENT.
BOOK IV.
PART SECOND.—THE CHASTISEMENT.
PROLOGUE.—THE BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF TWO WORLDS.
I. The Masquerade II. The Contrast III. The Carouse IV. The
Farewell V. The Florine VI. Mother Sainte-Perpetue VII. The
Temptation VIII. Mother Bunch and Mdlle. De Cardoville IX.
The Encounters—The Meeting XI. Discoveries XII. The Penal
Code XIII. Burglary
As the eagle, perched upon the cliff, commands an all-comprehensive view—not only of what happens on the plains and in the woodlands, but of matters occurring upon the heights, which its aerie overlooks, so may the reader have sights pointed out to him, which lie below the level of the unassisted eye.
In the year 1831, the powerful Order of the Jesuits saw fit to begin to act upon information which had for some time been digesting in their hands.
As it related to a sum estimated at no less than thirty or forty millions of francs, it is no wonder that they should redouble all exertions to obtain it from the rightful owners.
These were, presumably, the descendants of Marius, Count of Rennepont, in the reign of Louis XIV. of France.
They were distinguished from other men by a simple token, which all, in the year above named, had in their hands.
It was a bronze medal, bearing these legends on reverse and obverse:
VICTIM
of
L. C. D. J.
Pray for me!
PARIS,
February the 13th, 1682.
IN PARIS
Rue St Francois, No. 3,
In a century and a half
you will be.
February the 13th, 1832.
PRAY FOR ME!
Those who had this token were descendants of a family whom, a hundred and fifty years ago, persecution
