A fresh breeze ascended from the river; it was the delightful hour when night steals gently over resting Paris.

Then, as the brothers stood there breathing that atmosphere which usually brings relief and comfort, Pierre on his side again became conscious of his heart-wound, and remembered his promise to return to Montmartre, a promise that he must keep in spite of the torture there awaiting him; whilst Guillaume on the other hand experienced a revival of the suspicion and disquietude that had come to him on seeing Marie so feverish, changed as it were by some new feeling, of which she herself was ignorant.

Were further sufferings, struggles, and obstacles to happiness yet in store for those brothers who loved one another so dearly?
At all events their hearts bled once more with all the sorrow into which they had been cast by the scene they had just witnessed: that assize of justice at which a wretched man had been condemned to pay with his head for the crimes of one and all.
Then, as they turned along the quay, Guillaume recognised young Victor going off alone in the gloom, just in front of them.

The chemist stopped him and spoke to him of his mother.

But the young man did not hear; his thin lips parted, and in a voice as trenchant as a knife-thrust he exclaimed: "Ah! so it's blood they want.