My head was singing strangely as I stared out into the church, and a great trembling seized me, for I was faint from loss of sleep, of food, of blood—of everything, in a word, that makes life. I heard myself praying wildly to the Virgin, the building seemed to rock before my eyes—and then I felt a strong and kindly hand upon my shoulder.

“Be brave, M. le Moyne,” said d’Argenson’s voice. “Be strong. You have need of your strength now, if ever.”

The voice—the clasp of the hand—nerved and steadied me. I felt that with this man beside me I could vanquish fate itself.

Once more I looked out into the church. I saw the acolyte arrange the altar-cloth and light the candles. Then the priest raised his hand, and the wedding-party advanced from the vestibule. It consisted only of Nanette, her uncle, and the hideous Briquet. The men held the girl between them and were almost carrying her. Her face was white as death, and she turned her eyes appealingly from one to the other, but saw only ferocity in those two savage countenances. At last they were at the altar-rail, and she dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. I knew that she was praying.

“M. le Curé,” said Ribaut, “in case the bride cannot answer, her legal guardian is permitted to answer for her, is he not?”

“Yes, M. Ribaut,” replied the curé in a low voice, “that is permitted.”

“Very well, Monsieur, proceed,” and the men dropped to their knees beside the girl.

I could see her form shaken with sobs.

“Oh, come,” I whispered to d’Argenson, “hasten. Monsieur. This is more than I can bear.”

“It will be but a moment longer,” and he pressed my hand.

“Is there any one here present,” asked the priest, “who knows of any reason why these two should not be man and wife?”

D’Argenson put the tapestry back and advanced slowly to the altar-rail. Ribaut and Briquet saw him, and the eyes of the latter dilated with terror, for he had seen d’Argenson as you know, and knew him now. Nanette did not raise her head, but continued sobbing softly. Plainly she had abandoned hope.

“I forbid the marriage, M. le Curé,” said d’Argenson.

As she heard these words, Nanette raised her head with a start. She saw d’Argenson standing there. She fixed her eyes on his and what she read there seemed to reassure her, for she smiled and her weeping ceased.

Ribaut was on his feet in an instant, but Briquet remained kneeling, seemingly paralyzed by d’Argenson’s words. His mouth was working convulsively and his face was livid.

“Who is this fellow?” asked Ribaut, looking from d’Argenson to the priest, purple with rage.

“I forbid the marriage,” continued d’Argenson, before the priest could answer, “because it is a conspiracy between these two men to defraud Anne Ribaut of her property.”

“It is a lie!” screamed Ribaut, and he shook his fist in his accuser’s face. D’Argenson merely looked at him and smiled. He read guilt in his eyes.

“I forbid the marriage”

“Come, M. Ribaut,” he said coolly, “how about those ten thousand crowns you parted with this morning?”

Ribaut stared in astonishment, and his blood shot to his eyes, as he realized his danger.

“M. le Curé,” he protested at last, with an effort at composure, “one does not believe the ranting of every madman who happens in from the street. Let him bring forward his proof of this ridiculous charge.”

“I have my proof,” said d’Argenson, with a calmness I was far from sharing. “Come forward, my friend,” he added, turning towards the place where I stood.

I lifted the tapestry and stepped into the church. Ribaut and Briquet stared at me in amazement. Evidently they did not know me, but the eyes of love were keener.

“Pierre!” cried Nanette. “Oh, Pierre! And they told me you were dead!”

“Really, M. le Curé,” sneered Ribaut, “one would say this was a theatre and not a church. What comedy is this? From what gutter did you drag that scoundrel?”

“You have a short memory, it seems, M. Ribaut,” I retorted. “I did not think you would forget our last interview so quickly. I see that you still have the marks of it on your face.”

He stared at me with eyes starting from his head.

“So,” he murmured at last, “it is the lover!” and his eyes glittered with passion. “M. le Curé, you will not heed the ravings of such scoundrels?”

The curé smiled dryly.

“It appears you do not know this gentleman,” said he, glancing at d’Argenson.

“No,” snarled Ribaut, “nor do I wish to know him.”

“You may be interested, nevertheless,” went on the curé, “in knowing that it is M. le Comte d’Argenson, lieutenant of police.”

“D’Argenson!” cried Ribaut, and I saw the blood struck from his face as by a blow. “D’Argenson! Very well,” he continued after a moment, vainly trying to steady his voice, as he saw that the game was lost. “This wedding, then, will not take place. I yield. But I am still this girl’s guardian, am I not, Monsieur?”

“Yes, you are still her guardian,” assented d’Argenson.

“And she is still under my control?”

“In all things save that of this marriage.”

“Very well,” cried Ribaut in a ferocious voice. “She will return home with me. Come, Mademoiselle,” and he grasped her by the arm and turned away.

My brain was whirling as I saw Nanette look piteously at me. I started after them to commit I know not what act of violence, but d’Argenson waved me back.

“Stop a moment, M. Ribaut,” he called. “There is only one thing which can release your niece from the duty of obedience to you. That is her marriage. You have lost your right to exact obedience in that.”

He descended to Nanette’s side and took her hands. He smiled into her eyes, and her face brightened as she looked at him.

“I repeat, Mademoiselle,” he said, “that your marriage is the only thing which can make you independent of your uncle. It seems a pity that all these preparations should go for naught—that these candies should burn uselessly. Perhaps there is some one else present whom you would be willing to marry. The curé has assured me that he will overlook any little irregularity in the proceedings.”

His face was smiling and tender, all its ugliness vanished. I heard as in a dream.

“Oh, yes,” cried Nanette. “There is some one, Monsieur,” and she turned and looked at me.

For a moment I did not understand.

“Me?” I stammered. “Me?”

“Yes, you!” cried d’Argenson gayly. “Come, M. le Moyne, wake up!”

A mist seemed to fall from before me, and I saw Nanette gazing at me with eyes wet with tears and lips quivering with tenderness.

“My darling!” I cried. “My life!” and I stretched wide my arms to receive her.