blood will have cried to us for vengeance, and
cried in vain. Remember that—and mark my
next words. You heard me say yesterday
evening, that I had met Monsieur Chaubard on
his way to Toulouse in excellent health and
spirits. You heard our old friend and neighbour
at the supper-table contradict me, and declare
that he had seen the priest, some hours later,
go into our church here with the face of a panic-
stricken man. You saw, Thomas, how he
behaved when you went to fetch him to our
house. You saw, Louis, what his looks were
like when he came in. The change was noticed
by everybody—what was the cause of it? I saw
the cause in the priest's own face, when our
father's name turned up in the talk round the
supper-table. Did Monsieur Chaubard join in that
talk? He was the only person present who
never joined in it once. Did he change it, on a
sudden, whenever it came his way? It came
his way four times; and four times he changed
it—trembling, stammering, turning whiter and
whiter, but still, as true as the Heaven above
us, shifting the talk off himself, every time!
Are you men? Have you brains in your
heads? Don't you see, as I see, what this
leads to? On my salvation I swear it—
the priest knows the hand that killed our
father!"

The faces of the two elder brothers darkened
vindictively, as the conviction of the truth
fastened itself on their minds.

"How could he know it?" they inquired,
eagerly.

"He must tell us himself," said Jean.

"And if he hesitates—if he refuses to open
his lips?"

"We must open them by main force."

They drew their chairs together after that
last answer, and consulted, for some time, in
whispers.

When the consultation was over, the brothers
rose and went into the room where the dead
body of their father was laid out. The three
kissed him, in turn, on the forehead then took
hands together, and looked, meaningly, in each
other's faces—then separated. Louis and
Thomas put on their hats, and went at once
to the priest's residence; while Jean withdrew
by himself to the great room at the back of the
house, which was used for the purposes of
the oil-factory.

Only one of the workmen was left in the
place. He was watching an immense caldron
of boiling linseed-oil.

"You can go home," said Jean, patting the
man kindly on the shoulder. "There is no hope
of a night's rest for me, after the affliction
that has befallen us—I will take your place at
the caldron. Go home, my good fellow—go
home."

The man thanked him, and withdrew. Jean
followed, and satisfied himself that the workman
had really left the house. He then returned,
and sat down by the boiling caldron.

Meanwhile, Louis and Thomas presented themselves
at the priest's house. He had not yet retired
to bed, and he received them kindly—but with
the same extraordinary agitation in his face and
manner which had surprised all who saw him on
the previous day. The brothers were prepared
beforehand with an answer, when he inquired
what they wanted of him. They replied
immediately that the shock of their father's horrible
death had so seriously affected their aunt and
their eldest sister, that it was feared the minds
of both might give way, unless spiritual consolation
and assistance were afforded to them that
night. The unhappy priest—always faithful and
self-sacrificing where the duties of his ministry
were in question—at once rose to accompany
the young men back to the house. He even put
on his surplice, and took the crucifix with him,
to impress his words of comfort all the more
solemnly on the afflicted women whom he was
called on to succour.

Thus innocent of all suspicion of the conspiracy
to which he had fallen a victim, he was
taken into the room where Jean sat waiting by
the caldron of oil; and the door was locked
behind him.

Before he could speak, Thomas Siadoux openly
avowed the truth.

"It is we three who want you," he said—
"not our aunt, and not our sister. If you answer
our questions truly, you have nothing to fear.
If you refuse——" He stopped, and looked toward
Jean and the boiling caldron.

Never, at the best of times, a resolute man;
deprived, since the day before, of such resources
of energy as he possessed, by the mental suffering
which he had undergone in secret the unfortunate
priest trembled from head to foot, as the
three brothers closed round him. Louis took the
crucifix from him, and held it; Thomas forced
him to place his right hand on it; Jean stood in
front of him and put the questions.

"Our father has been brought home, a
murdered man," he said. "Do you know who
killed him?"

The priest hesitated; and the two elder brothers
moved him nearer to the caldron.

"Answer us, on peril of your life," said Jean.
"Say, with your hand on the blessed crucifix,
do you know the man who killed our father?"

"I do know him."

"When did you make the discovery?"

"Yesterday."

"Where?"

"At Toulouse."

"Name the murderer."

At those words, the priest closed his hand
fast on the crucifix, and rallied his sinking
courage.

"Never!" he said, firmly. "The knowledge
I possess was obtained in the confessional. The
secrets of the confessional are sacred. If I
betray them, I commit sacrilege. I will die
first!'"

"Think!" said Jean. "If you keep silence,
you screen the murderer. If you keep silence,
you are the murderer's accomplice. We have
sworn over our father's dead body to avenge
him—if you keep silence, we will avenge him on