civil. Before daybreak on the following morning the gloomy

procession--including the Countess, two of her women-servants, the Chevalier de Fontane, Father Jacques, and his assistants--set off for St. Flour. The body of the murdered officer, in a plain black coffin borne upon the shoulders of six _gendarmes_, brought up the rear.

From the moment of his arrest the Chevalier had scarcely spoken, except to utter broken ejaculations of grief and horror. The mountaineers who guarded the door of his chamber had heard him restlessly pacing to and fro all that dreadful night.

Food had been twice or thrice brought to him, but there it still lay untouched, untasted. Being summoned to the carriage that was to convey him to St. Flour, he went quite silently and submissively, between a couple of guards.

In the hall they passed the coffin. For a moment the young man paused. He turned very pale, took off his hat, crossed himself devoutly, and passed on.

Only once he was seen to give way to emotion. It was when the Lieutenant of Police stepped into the carriage and took his seat opposite to him.

"Monsieur," he exclaimed, passionately, "one word, for mercy's sake! Does she believe that I am guilty?"

"Monsieur de Fontane," replied the Lieutenant, briefly but kindly, "Madame la Comtesse entertains no doubt of your innocence."

The prisoner's whole countenance brightened. He bent his head gratefully, and spoke no more during the rest of the journey.