"We must excuse Ermance's alarm, for I remember that then you frightened me terribly! That man seems to be in trouble; come, my daughter, let us go and offer help to him, and don't be afraid any more; the unfortunate should inspire pity and not fear."

As she spoke, Adeline and Ermance approached the gate. The features of the man who stood on the other side seemed to become animated; he gazed at the young woman and her daughter, then he turned his eyes upon Jacques, pa.s.sed an arm through the gate, and seemed to implore their pity. Adeline had drawn near; she scrutinized the beggar, then uttered a piteous cry, and returned to Jacques, pale, distressed, trembling, and hardly able to speak.

"I don't know whether it is a delusion," she said, "but that man--it seems to me--yes--look--it is he, it is----"

She could say no more. Jacques ran to the little gate, he recognized his brother, and threw the gate open. Edouard entered the garden, clad in rags and tatters, overdone by fatigue and suffering, and presenting a perfect image of misery and desperation.

"Help me, save me!" he said, dragging himself toward Jacques, who scarcely dared believe his eyes; "for G.o.d's sake, do not turn me away!"

"Oh! let's go away, mamma, that man frightens me!" said Ermance, clinging to her mother. Adeline, standing as still as a statue, gazed at Edouard, while tears flowed from her eyes and fell on the child's face.

"Unhappy wretch," said Jacques at last, "why have you come here? Do you propose to pursue us everywhere? Must your infamy inevitably follow your family and make this child blush?"

"Ah!" said Edouard, throwing himself at Jacques's feet, "I am a miserable wretch indeed! she even hides my child from me, she shields her from her father's glance!"

Jacques no longer had the strength to spurn him; Edouard approached Adeline and threw himself at her feet, placing his head against the ground, and sobbing piteously. When she heard the unhappy man's groans, Ermance turned and looked at him; terror yielded to pity.

"Oh! that poor man looks very unhappy, mamma," she said to Adeline; "he causes me pain; let me help him to get up; I don't feel afraid of him any more."

Thereupon Edouard seized his daughter's hand and pressed it affectionately in his, looking up at Adeline with an expression of which she understood the meaning.

"I forgive you," she said to him; "oh! if you had offended no one but me! but your child, my daughter, she can never mention your name."

Jacques checked Adeline, by putting a finger to his lips. At that moment Sans-Souci ran toward them, and manifested great surprise at finding a stranger in the garden.

"What do you want of us?" said Jacques; "why do you come upon us so suddenly? what has happened?"

"Faith! comrade, I came to tell you that some gendarmes are searching the village; they are looking for a vagabond whom they recognized only a league from here, and they propose to search this house soon. I confess that I told them that it wouldn't be any use, but sacrebleu! I didn't know that----"

"Hush! hold your tongue," said Jacques, "and don't say a word about what you see here. Go back to the house with the child and my sister.--Go, have no fear, I will answer for everything.--Sans-Souci, take my sister to the house; and above all, the most absolute silence."

Sans-Souci promised, and walked a few steps away, tremendously surprised by all that he saw. Adeline was terrified by the risks that Edouard ran, but he himself implored her to abandon him to his unhappy fate. He pressed her hand to his heart, kissed his daughter's hand, and turned away from them, while, at a sign from his comrade, Sans-Souci led Adeline and Ermance toward the house.

"They have gone and we are alone," said Jacques to his brother, when Adeline was out of sight; "are you the man they are looking for?"

"Yes; a little way from here, in a wine shop I had entered to ask for help, a man who used to be a keeper at the galleys at Toulon, happened to be drinking at a table; he examined me closely, and I went out, afraid of being recognized; but I see now that it was too late; my fate is sealed; but I am less unhappy than I was; I have seen my daughter, my wife has forgiven me, and you--oh! I entreat you, brother, forgive me too!"

"Yes," said Jacques, "I will forgive you; but you must--wretched man! do you know what the punishment is that awaits you? You must die upon the scaffold; and the scandal of your infamous death will make our shame eternal! Will you never have the courage to do anything but commit crimes? will you never be able to do what the honor of your wife and your child has made it your duty to do for a long while? You shudder, weak man! you await the executioner; remember that you cannot avoid falling into the hands of the law again! Great G.o.d! and you are not weary of a life dragged out in infamy and misery!"

"I understand you," said Edouard; "be sure that death will be a blessing to me; but before going down into the grave, I wanted to let you know that I repent; now give me the means of escaping my punishment; I will hesitate no longer."

Jacques motioned to Edouard to wait for him; he hurried to his study, took his pistols and returned to the garden. He saw his brother kneeling beside the small barred gate. He handed him the weapons with a firm hand and Edouard took them.

"Now," said Jacques, "come, unhappy man! let us embrace for the last time. Your brother pardons your crimes, and he will come every day to pray to Heaven on your grave."

Edouard threw himself into his brother's arms; they embraced a long while; but at last, Edouard walked a few steps away, a report rang out,--the miserable wretch had ceased to live.

Jacques went to his brother's body, and summoning all his courage, although his tears fell rapidly, he hastily dug a grave at the foot of a willow tree near the little gate. Sans-Souci arrived and surprised his comrade in that melancholy occupation.

"Help me," said Jacques, "it's my brother."

Sans-Souci tried to send his friend away and to perform that painful task alone; but Jacques would not consent; he was determined to pay the last duties to his brother. And not until the earth had concealed him from his sight did he consent to return to Adeline.

"Well," she said, "what has become of him?"

"Have no further fear for him," said Jacques; "he has escaped; and I give you my word that the law can never lay hold of him now."

Adeline had faith in Jacques's promise and looked on without apprehension when the gendarmes, a few hours later, searched the house, where of course they did not find Edouard.

After some time, Adeline noticed with surprise a tombstone which Jacques had caused to be erected under the willow at the end of the garden.

"For whom is this stone?" she asked him.

"For my unhappy brother," Jacques replied.

"Is he dead?"

"Yes, he is no more; I am absolutely certain of it."

"Alas! in what part of the earth did he end his days?"

"He is there," said Jacques at last, pointing to the end of the garden, at the foot of the willow.

Adeline shuddered and dared to ask no more; but every day she took her daughter to pray over the poor beggar's grave, and Ermance never knew that she was praying for her father.

And it was at the foot of the willow that Jacques buried his cross also.