Poor Angelot! he looked unhappy enough, there in the distance, sitting in most unusual sulks and silence.

There was an opportunity for a word, as he led her back from the dining-room, through the smaller salon, into the large lighted room where all the guests had preceded them.

"I don't wonder that you love your uncle," she said to him.

"I don't love him, when I see him talking to you. I am too jealous."

"How absurd!"

"Besides, I am angry with him. He has not done something that I asked him. Delay is dangerous, and I live in terror."

"What?" she asked, turning a little white.

"If you would give me the Empire, I could not tell you now."

They were in the salon. He put his heels together and bowed; she swept him a curtsey.

"Help me to hand the coffee," she said under her breath.

So it came to pass, when the coffee-table was brought in, that they walked up together to the new sofa, polished mahogany and yellow satin, finished with winged Sphinxes in gilded bronze, where Madame de Sainfoy and General Ratoneau were sitting side by side.

The Prefect, of course, had brought his hostess back from the dining-room and had stood talking to her for a few minutes afterwards. But the General, having deposited his lady, came clanking up almost immediately to rejoin Madame de Sainfoy.

"Allow me, my dear Prefect," he said. "I have not finished an interesting talk with Madame la Comtesse."

Monsieur de Mauves looked at him, then glanced at her with a questioning smile.

"Yes, it is true. We had just touched on a subject of the very deepest interest," she said.

Her look, her smile, seemed to glide over the Prefect's tall figure and pleasant face, as if he was merely a not disagreeable obstacle, to rest thoughtfully, with satisfaction, on Ratoneau in his gorgeous uniform.

"Listen! I will confide in you, and then you will understand," said the General, seizing the Prefect's arm. "I am going to consult Madame la Comtesse on the subject of a marriage."

He showed his teeth in a broad smile, staring into the Prefect's face, which did not change in its expression of easy good-humour.

"Whose marriage, may I ask? Your own?"

"You have said it, monsieur. My own. Could I do better?"

"You could not have a better counsellor. I retire at once," said the Prefect.

Then an idea crossed his mind, for just as he was met, with a friendly greeting—"A word with you, Monsieur le Prefet"—from Joseph de la Mariniere, his eyes fell on Helene de Sainfoy as she turned away from Angelot at the door. He had already admired her at a distance, so far the most beautiful thing at Lancilly, in spite of the oppressed and weary air that suited so ill with her fresh girlhood.

"Mon Dieu, what a sacrilege! But no, impossible!" said the Prefect to himself.

Several young people were carrying the coffee-cups about the room, Sophie and Lucie in white frocks among them. It was generally the part of the young girls; the men did not often help them, so that Madame de Sainfoy looked at Angelot with surprise, and a shade of displeasure, when he approached her with Helene.

Angelot was perfectly grave and self-possessed. On his side, no one would have known that he had ever met General Ratoneau before, certainly not that he regarded him as an enemy. He hardly changed colour, even when Ratoneau waved him aside with a scowl, and stretched across him, without rising, to take his cup from Helene.

"Come," he said, "I'll have my coffee from those pretty hands, or not at all."

Helene looked up startled, and met the man's bold eyes. Angelot turned away instantly, and in a few seconds more she had joined him, and they were attending to other guests. Angelot commanded himself nobly; his time for punishing the General would come some day, but was not yet. As he and his cousin walked together along the room, the Vicomte des Barres, Monsieur Joseph's friend, pointed them out to Madame de la Mariniere.

"A pretty pair of cousins, madame!"

"Ah, yes," she said a little sadly. "I cannot always realise that Ange is grown up. To see him, a man, in the salon at Lancilly, makes me feel very old."

The Vicomte murmured smiling compliments, but they soon turned to talk which was more serious, if not a little treasonable.

And in the meanwhile other eyes followed the two young people: Madame de Sainfoy's, while she doubted whether it might be necessary to snub Monsieur Ange de la Mariniere; General Ratoneau's, with a long, steady, considering gaze, at the end of which he turned to his hostess and said, "You advise me to marry, madame! Give me your daughter."

For the moment, even the practical Madame de Sainfoy was both startled and shocked; so much so that she lifted her fan to hide the change in her face. But she collected herself instantly, and lowered it with a smile.

"Indeed, Monsieur le General, you do us great honour"—she began. "But you were good enough to ask my advice, and I should not, I think—in fact, my daughter is still rather young, rather unformed, for such a position—and then—"

"She is nineteen, I know," said General Ratoneau. "Too young for me, you think? Well, I am forty-two, the same age as the Emperor, and he married a young wife last year."

"You wish to resemble His Majesty in every way," said Madame de Sainfoy, smiling graciously; it was necessary to say something.

"I am like him, I know—sapristi, it is an advantage. But I am a better match in one way, madame. I have never been married. I have no wife to get rid of, before offering myself to Mademoiselle de Sainfoy. She looks like a good girl, and she is devilish pretty. I dare say she will do what she likes with me. Anyhow, it is a good marriage for her, and for me. I am well off, I shall not expect much money."

In Adelaide de Sainfoy's heart there was amazement at herself for having listened even so long and so patiently. This was indeed a trial of her theories. But after all, common sense was stronger than sentiment.

"We must live in our own times," she reminded herself. "These are the people of the future; the past is dead."

Her eyes wandered round the room. Every man she saw there was a gentleman, with ancestors, with manners, with traditions. Whether they were returned emigrants or people who had by force majeure accepted the Revolution and the Empire, all bore the stamp of that old world which they alone kept in memory. Differences of dress, a new simplicity, ease and freedom, a revolt against formalities, these things made a certain separation between the new country society and the old. But gentlemen and ladies all her guests were, except the man who sat beside her and asked for Helene as coolly as if he were asking for one of her dog's puppies.

Yet Madame de Sainfoy repeated to herself, "The past is dead!"

"You do us great honour," she repeated; for so strong-minded a person, the tone and words were vague.

"That is precisely what you do not think, madame," said Ratoneau, looking her straight in the face with a not unpleasant smile.

She was very conscious of the resolute will, the power to command, which the man possessed in common with his master. Who could refuse Napoleon anything? except a man or woman here and there with whom the repulsion was stronger than the attraction. Adelaide de Sainfoy was not one of these.

"You are mistaken; I do," she said, and smiled back with all her brilliancy.

"It is true," he said, "I am not yet a Duke, or a Marshal of France, like the others. I have had enemies—envious people: my very wounds, marks of honour, have come between me and glory. But next year, madame, when I have swept the Chouans out of the West, you will see. I have a friend at Court, now, besides. One of the Empress's equerries, Monsieur Monge, is an old brother-in-arms of mine. The Emperor has ennobled him; he is the Baron de Beauclair—a prettier name than Monge, n'est-ce pas?"

"But that is charming! Tell me more about this friend of yours," said Madame de Sainfoy, rather eagerly.

This was a new view, a new possibility. Ratoneau knew what he was doing; he had not forgotten the Prefect's remark at Les Chouettes, some days before, as to Madame de Sainfoy's ambition of a place at Court for herself, as lady-in-waiting to the Empress. For a minute or two he swaggered on about his friend Monge; then suddenly turned again upon the Comtesse.

"But my answer, madame! There, you must excuse me; I am a rough soldier; I am not accustomed to wait for anything. When I want a thing, I ask for it. When it is not given at once—"

"You take it, I suppose? Yes: the wonder is that you should ask at all!" said Madame de Sainfoy.

Her look and smile seemed to turn the words, which might have been very scornful, into an easy little jest; but none the less they were a slight check on the airs of this conquering hero. He laughed.

"Well, madame, you are right, I withdraw the words. If you refuse my request, I shall have to make my bow, I suppose. But you will not."

She leaned back with lowered eyelids, playing with her fan.

"At this moment," she said, "I can only give you a word of advice—Patience, Monsieur le General. For myself I will speak frankly. I am entirely loyal to the Empire and the Army; they are the glory of France. I think a brave soldier is worthy of any woman. Personally, this sudden idea of yours does not at all displease me. But I am not the only or the chief person concerned. Monsieur de Sainfoy, too, has his own ideas, and among them is an extreme indulgence of his daughter's fancies. You observe, I am speaking to you in the frankest confidence. I treat you as you treat me—" she glanced up and smiled. "Only this year, in Paris, plans of mine have been spoilt in this way."

"But fortunately for me, madame!" exclaimed Ratoneau. "We will not regret those plans, if you please. Shall I speak to Monsieur de Sainfoy this evening?"

"No, I beg! Say nothing at all. Leave the affair in my hands. I promise, I will do my best for you."

She spoke low and hurriedly, for her husband was walking up to the retired corner where she and the General were sitting, and she, knowing his humours so well, could see that he was surprised and a little angry at the confidences which had been going on.

It was one of Herve's tiresome points, unworthy of a man of the world, that he did not always let her go her own way without question, though he ought to have learnt by this time to trust her in everything.

He now came up and asked General Ratoneau if he would play a game of billiards. Most of the men had already left the salon. The General grunted an assent, and rose stiffly to follow his host, with a grave bow to Madame de Sainfoy. The Comte walked with him half across the room, then suddenly turned back to meet his wife, whose preoccupation he had noticed rather curiously.

"You have other guests, Adelaide!" he said, so that she alone could hear.

"I have," she answered. "And I must talk to you presently. I have something to say."

He gazed an instant into her eyes, which were very blue and shining, but he found no answer to the question in his own, and hurried at once away. Without the Prefect's scrap of information or his wider knowledge of men, he did not even guess what those two could have been talking about. Something political, he supposed; Adelaide loved politics, and could throw herself into them with anybody, even such a lump of arrogant vulgarity as this fellow Ratoneau. She thought it wise, no doubt, to cultivate imperial officials. But in that case why did she not bestow the lion's share of her smiles on the Prefect, a greater man and a gentleman into the bargain? Why did she let him waste his pleasant talk on the dowagers of Anjou, while she sat absorbed with that animal?

The guests, thirty or more, were scattered between the billiard-room, the smaller drawing-room, where card-tables were set out, and the large drawing-room, given up to conversation and presently to the acting of a proverb by several of the younger people and Mademoiselle Moineau, who played the part of a great-grandmother to perfection.

Angelot so distinguished himself as a jealous lover that Helene could hardly sit calmly to look on, and several people told him and his mother that his right place was at the Francais.

"It is part of our life at La Mariniere," Anne said with a shade of impatience to the Prefect, who was talking to her. "When we are not singing or playing or dancing or shooting, we are acting. It does not sound like a very responsible kind of life."

"Ah, madame," Monsieur de Mauves said softly, in his kind way, "we French people know how to play and to work at the same time. All these little amusements do not hinder people from conspiring against the State."

A flush rose in her thin face; she threw herself eagerly forward.

"Are you speaking of my son, Monsieur le Prefet? Do not blame him for loyalty to his uncle. He is not a conspirator. Sometimes—" she laughed—"I think Ange has not character enough."

"Yes, he has character," the Prefect answered. "But you are right in one way, madame; he does not yet care enough for one cause or the other. Something will draw him—some stronger love than this for his uncle."

"Heaven forbid!" sighed Madame de la Mariniere.

For her eyes followed his. They fell on Helene near the door, white and fair, her face lit up with some new and sweet feeling as she laughed with the little old governess dressed up in ancient brocades from a chest in the garret, the dowager Marquise of the proverb just played. And a little further, in the shadow of the doorway, stood Angelot in powdered wig, silk coat, and sword, looking like a handsome courtier from a group by Watteau, and his eyes showed plainly enough what woman, if not what cause, attracted him at the moment. As to causes, Monsieur Joseph and the Vicomte des Barres were deep in talk close by; two Chouans consulting in the very presence of the Prefect.

Monsieur de Mauves smiled, took a delicate pinch of snuff, and stroked his chin.

"Sometimes I congratulate myself, madame," he said, "on having no young people to marry. Yet, with a sense of duty, which, thank God, they generally have, they are more manageable than their elders. Look, for instance, at your dear and charming brother-in-law. There he is hatching fresh plots, when I have just assured him that the police are not supervising him by my orders, and never shall, if I can trust him to behave like a peaceable citizen."

"Ah, you are very good, Monsieur le Prefet," said Madame de la Mariniere. She went on talking absently. "Whatever we may think of your politics," she said, "it seems a crime to annoy or disappoint you. Indeed you do much to reconcile us. But as to Ange—his father's son is never likely—"

"It is a world of surprises, dear madame," said the Prefect, as she did not finish her sentence. "I wish him all that is good—and so I wish that you and Monsieur de la Mariniere would send him into the army. He should serve France—should make her his only mistress, at least for the next ten years. Then let him marry, settle down amongst us here—turn against the Emperor, if he chooses—but by that time there will be no danger!"

Thus flattering himself and his master, the Prefect wished her an almost affectionate good night.

In a few minutes more, nearly all the guests were gone. Angelot, still in his quaint acting costume, went out to the court with Monsieur de Sainfoy to see the ladies into their carriages. He then went to change his clothes, his cousin returning to the salon. Hurrying back into the long hall, now empty of servants, vast and rather ghostly with its rows of family portraits dimly lighted, while caverns of darkness showed where passages opened and bare stone staircases led up or down, he saw Helene, alone, coming swiftly towards him.

She flew up the stairs, the last landing of which he had just reached on his way down, where it turned sharply under a high barred window. Meeting Angelot suddenly, she almost screamed, but stopped herself in time. He laughed joyfully; he was wildly excited.

"Ah, belle cousine!" he said softly. "Dear, we shall say good night here better than in the salon!"

Never once, since that hour in the garden ten days ago, had these two met without witnesses. Helene, as a rule, was far too well guarded for that. She tried even now, but not successfully, to keep her rather presumptuous lover at a little distance, but in truth she was too much enchanted to see him, her only friend, for this pretence of coldness to last long. Standing with Angelot's arms round her, trembling from head to foot with joy and fear, she tried between his kisses and tender words to tell him how indeed he must not stop her, for in real prosaic truth Madame de Sainfoy had sent her off to bed.

"But why, why, dear angel, before we were all gone! It was the best thing that could happen—but why?"

"That is what I do not know, and it frightens me a little," said Helene.

"Frightened here with me!"

"Yes, Angelot!" She tried to speak, but he would hardly let her. She held him back with both hands, and went on hurriedly—"It was mamma's look—she looked at me so strangely, she spoke severely, as if I had done wrong, and indeed I have, mon Dieu! but she does not know it, and I hope she never may. If she knew, I believe she would kill me. Let me go, I must!"

"One moment, darling! Come away with me! I will fetch a horse and carry you off. Then it won't matter what any one knows!"

"You are distracted!" Helene began to laugh, though her eyes were full of tears. "Listen, listen," she said. "Your father and mother and uncle were just going, when mamma called them back. She said to papa and them that she wished to consult the family. Oh, what is it all about? What can it be?"

"That matters very little as long as they don't want us. Let them talk. What are you afraid of, my sweet?"

"I can't tell you. I hardly know," murmured Helene; and in the next instant she had snatched herself from him and flown upstairs.

There were quick steps in the hall below, and Monsieur Joseph's voice was calling "Angelot!"



CHAPTER X

HOW ANGELOT REFUSED WHAT HAD NOT BEEN OFFERED

Madame de Sainfoy herself hardly knew why she wished to consult the family, there and then, on the fate proposed for Helene. The truth was, she relied on Urbain, and wanted his support against her husband, with whom the subject was a difficult one. As to Anne de la Mariniere, no particular sympathy was to be expected from her, certainly; but one could not detain Urbain at that hour without detaining her too. It was the same with Joseph, in a less degree. Neither to him nor to Madame Urbain did it matter in the least what marriage was arranged for Helene de Sainfoy; they had even no right to an opinion; they were neither aunt nor uncle, they had no special place in the world, and the girl had nothing to expect from them. But Madame de Sainfoy knew that her husband took a different view of all this, that he made a certain fuss with these old cousins, considered them as his family, and would not endure that they should be in any way shut out or slighted.

"He likes to be surrounded by these country admirers," Madame de Sainfoy would have said. "If I do not talk to them about this, he will; and it will please him that I should consult them. Urbain is different, of course. Urbain is a sensible man; he will be on my side."

So she put Madame Urbain, rather grave, indifferent, and tired, into a chair on her right, smiled brilliantly upon her, and turned her attention upon the two men standing before the fireplace, Herve and Urbain, one troubled and curious, for he knew her well, and her drift puzzled him, the other gay, serene, and waiting her commands with ready deference. Monsieur Joseph, not much interested, thinking of his talks with the Prefect and Monsieur des Barres, impatient to hurry home and say good night to Riette, sat a little in the background.

With all her eagerness, with all her ambition and policy, Adelaide de Sainfoy flushed and hesitated a little before she set forth her plan.

"My friends," she said, "this is a family council. Herve and I are fortunate, here at Lancilly. We need no longer decide family affairs by our unassisted wits."

She smiled on Herve's cousins, and Urbain bowed; he, at least, recognised the honour that was done them.

"A proposal of marriage has been made to me for our daughter Helene."

She spoke to the company, but looked at her husband; there was fear as well as defiance in her eyes. He returned her gaze steadily, slightly frowning. Urbain bowed again, and looked at the floor with an inscrutable countenance. Anne shrugged her shoulders slightly, as if to say, "How does that concern me?" Joseph jumped suddenly from his chair, the colour rushing into his thin brown face, and stood like a point of exclamation. Nobody spoke, not even Helene's father.

"Let me announce to you," said Madame de Sainfoy, still looking at him, "that the personage who has done us this honour is—Monsieur le General Ratoneau."

The moment of dead silence that followed this was broken by a short laugh from the Comte.

"Was it worth while to consult a family council?" he said. "I should have thought, my dear Adelaide, that a word from you might have settled that matter on the spot."

Monsieur Joseph said aside: "Honour! It is an insult!"

Anne opened her eyes wide with horror, and even Urbain was startled, but he prudently said nothing.

"It might—it certainly might—" said Madame de Sainfoy, "if I could have been sure that you would take my view, Herve."

"I imagine that we could hardly differ on such a point!" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What is your opinion, then? Think well before you speak."

"On my honour, no thought is necessary. To speak very mildly, a man of that birth, manners, appearance, is not worth considering at all as a husband for Helene. Come, it is ridiculous! You cannot have encouraged such an idea, Adelaide! Was that the subject of all your long conversation? Waste of time, truly!"

"Pardon, it is not ridiculous," said Madame de Sainfoy. "Your prejudices will end by sending Helene into a convent; this, I believe, is the fourth good proposal that you have laughed at. Yes, a good proposal—listen, Urbain, I know you will agree with me, for every sensible man must. You talk of General Ratoneau's birth! All honour to him, that his talents and courage have raised him above it. As to his manners, they are those of a soldier; frank and rough, of course, but he seems to me both intelligent and sincere. Manners! It is a little late in the day to talk of them, when most of the Marshals of France and the new nobility have none better. Do you fancy yourself back in the eighteenth century, my poor Herve?"

"Very well—but you would not like Georges to bring such manners home from Spain!"

"If Georges distinguishes himself, and gains the Emperor's favour, he may bring home what he likes," said Madame de Sainfoy, scornfully. "However, there is no danger; he is our son."

"I should have thought that our son-in-law mattered at least as much."

"We are not responsible for him. By the bye, as to the General's appearance, you can hardly object to that without bordering on treason. For my part, I call him a handsome man."

"A handsome butcher!" said Anne de la Mariniere, under her breath.

"He is—he is a butcher's son," cried Joseph, suddenly. "I know it—the Prefect told me. His father is still alive—old Ratoneau—a wholesale butcher at Marseilles. He was one of the foremost among the Revolutionists there—a butcher, indeed. Oh, madame, Herve is right! But it is more than ridiculous—it is impossible. Why, the very name is enough! Ratoneau!"

Madame de Sainfoy hardly seemed to hear him. She put him on one side with the slightest movement of her hand.

"Next year, probably," she said, "General Ratoneau will be a Marshal of France and ennobled. He will be the equal of all those other men who have already married into our best families. At this moment a friend of his, the Baron de Beauclair, formerly his equal, is an equerry to the Empress. General Ratoneau has only to do the Emperor's work here, to—to pacify and reconcile the West, and his turn will come."

She gave herself credit for not repeating Ratoneau's own words as to sweeping out the Chouans. Joseph de la Mariniere did not deserve such consideration, but she wished to be careful and politic.

"After all, do you not see how inconsistent we are?" she said to the company generally. "We take all the benefits of the Empire, we submit to a successful soldier, accept a new regime for ourselves, and refuse it for our children. Is it not unreasonable?"

"On the face of it, yes," said Urbain, speaking for the first time. "And there is nothing, they say, that pleases the Emperor so much as the marriage of his officers with young ladies of good family. I have no doubt at all, if my friend Herve could reconcile himself, that Mademoiselle Helene would further the fortunes of her family by such a marriage as this. General Ratoneau is a fine soldier, I believe. I agree with you, madame, he is handsome. He rubs our instincts a little the wrong way, but after all, this is not the time to be sensitive. As to Mademoiselle Helene herself, I am sure she is most dutiful. I could imagine marriages more obnoxious to her. She would soon reconcile herself to a husband chosen for her by all the authorities."

"Poor Helene!" sighed Madame de la Mariniere.

"Come, Urbain, you friend of liberty!" exclaimed Joseph. "You advise internal tyranny, it seems; what would you say to the external? If I were in my cousin's place, I would wait for that before making such a sacrifice."

"What do you mean, Joseph?" said his brother.

"I mean that our dear Prefect has the fates of all our young daughters in his hands. He has only to report them to the Emperor, and a marriage to please His Majesty will be at once arranged. Is not that enough obedience? Cannot we wait for that necessity, instead of running beforehand to give a beautiful girl to the first brutal soldier who asks for her?"

And after that the argument waxed loud and strong. Monsieur Joseph was called upon for his authority, for particulars as to this new power given to the Prefects, which was hardly yet known, their own good Prefect being heartily ashamed of it. Herve de Sainfoy declared that it was stupid and intolerable, but also impracticable, and in this he and his Royalist cousin agreed. No one would bear it, they were sure; but they were also convinced that De Mauves would never make use of it. Urbain shrugged his shoulders, and was of a different opinion. He thought the idea quite of a piece with many of Napoleon's other administrative plans; it seemed to him far-reaching and clever, the foundation of a new Imperialist nobility. Madame de Sainfoy, her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes shining, applauded Urbain as he spoke. It seemed to her, as to him, common sense put into practice. If the foolish old families of France would not swallow and assimilate the new order of things, it must be forced down their throats. The Emperor, and no one else, had the power to do this. His resolute will had the task of making a new society, and it was useless to complain of his means. But, evidently, the way to the Emperor's favour was not to wait for coercion, but to accept this fine opportunity of ranging one's family definitely on his side. Georges an officer, Helene married to an officer, herself a lady-in-waiting to Marie Louise; thus everything would be arranged for floating down the great river of the Empire into the ocean of a new world. And immediate action seemed all the more advisable, if the Prefect's false delicacy was likely to leave the Sainfoy family stranded on a reef of old-fashioned manners.

At last, when every one had ceased to talk at once and the clamour was a little stilled, Herve de Sainfoy stepped forward and made his wife a low bow.

"Madame," he said, "I have heard all your arguments, and my old-fashioned prejudices remain the same. I have made some sacrifices to keep our country and position, and may have to make more; but when you ask me to give my eldest daughter to a man who is not even a poor imitation of a gentleman, you ask too much. I will choose a husband for Helene myself, or she shall take the veil. That life, at least, has its distinction. Aunts, great-aunts, cousins, have chosen it before her. One of our best and most beautiful ancestors was a Carmelite nun."

Madame de la Mariniere clapped her hands gently. Herve smiled at her, and Madame de Sainfoy frowned.

"A convent! No, no!" cried Urbain, while Joseph muttered breathlessly, "But there is a better alternative, dear cousins!"

He flew out of the room. The rest of the council looked at each other, puzzled and smiling, except Madame de Sainfoy, whose irritation deepened. Who was this tiresome, old-fashioned little man, that he should interfere in her plans! and what lubies might possess him now!

The curtains at the door, flung back by Joseph, had hardly settled once more into their places when he came back again, clutching Angelot by the arm.

Coming from the darkness, from the presence of Helene, Angelot was dazzled and slightly out of breath when his uncle dragged him into the salon. He had not had time to ask a question; he came utterly unprepared into the presence of the family, and the faces that received him were not encouraging. Three at least were flushed with anger or confusion; his father's, his mother's, Madame de Sainfoy's. It was at her that he looked most intently; and he had never seen anything more unfriendly than the gleam of her eyes, the flash of her white teeth between lips suddenly drawn back like those of a fierce animal, while her flush faded, as Monsieur Joseph spoke, to a whiteness even more threatening. He understood Helene's words, "If she knew, she would kill me." No, this woman would not have much mercy on anything that crossed her will—and Helene was in her power.

Monsieur Joseph's slight hands, like Angelot's, were strong. The young fellow tried instinctively to wrench himself from his uncle's grasp on his arm, but it only tightened.

"Here, dear friends, I bring you the alternative!" cried Monsieur Joseph, in his joyfullest tone. "Why not marry Mademoiselle Helene to the best and handsomest boy in Anjou—in France, for that matter—a boy we have all known from his cradle—who will have a good fortune, a prudent father's only child—who would, no doubt, though I grieve to say it, serve under any flag you please for such a prize. Yes, I am safe in saying so, for—"

The romantic little gentleman was stopped in his wild career. Angelot, his eyes blazing, with a white face and teeth set as furiously as Madame de Sainfoy's own, turned round upon him, seized him with his free hand by the other arm, and shook him with all his young strength, hissing out: "Will you be quiet, Uncle Joseph! Will you hold your tongue, if you please, and leave me to manage my own affairs."

"Come, come, what does all this mean?" cried Urbain, stepping forward.

"It means that my uncle is mad—mad—you know you are!" Angelot said in a choked voice.

Still holding Monsieur Joseph with a dog's firm grip, he stared into his eyes and shook his head violently.

"What, ungrateful—" the little uncle tried to say, but Angelot's face, his totally unexpected rage, seemed to suggest such unknown mysteries that the words died in his throat.

Suddenly released, he dropped into a chair and swore prodigiously under his breath, quite forgetting the presence of ladies in the unnatural, awful change that had come over his nephew. He stared at Angelot, who was indeed the centre of all eyes; his mother sitting upright in consternation; his father with angry brow and queerly smiling mouth; Herve de Sainfoy very grave, with elevated eyebrows; the Comtesse leaning back in her chair, hard, fierce, watchful, yet a shade less angry than before. If this was only a fancy of that ridiculous Joseph, it might not signify—yet who knew? She was ready to suspect any one, every one, even the young man's father. The name of La Mariniere was odious to her.

Angelot drew himself very upright, folded his arms, and turned to face the family council.

"See what it is to have an uncle!" he said, and his voice, though clear enough, was not quite so proud and convincing as his attitude. "He treats me like a child crying for the moon. If he could, he would fetch the moon out of the sky for me. But his kind pains are quite thrown away, mesdames et messieurs, for—I do not want the moon, any more than the moon wants me!"

He almost laughed; and only the quick change of colour in his young face showed that any feeling lay behind the words which sounded—in Monsieur Joseph's ears at least—heartlessly playful.

Angelot stepped up to Madame de Sainfoy and respectfully kissed her hand. "Bonsoir, madame!"

"Bonsoir, Angelot."

She spoke coldly; she was still uneasy, still suspicious; she gave him a keen look, and his eyelids were not lifted to meet it. In another moment he was gone.

Then the others gathered round poor Monsieur Joseph, and tried to make him explain his wild behaviour. At first he stared at them vaguely, then in a few quick words took all the blame upon himself. Yes, it was an idea that had suddenly seized him. His love for Angelot, the beauty and sweetness of Helene, a dream of happiness for them both! A pastoral poem, in short! but it seemed that the young man was not worthy of his place as its hero.

"It seems, after all, I am more poetical than you," he said rather bitterly to Urbain.

"My dear," his brother said, "poetry at its best is the highest good sense. Now your idea, as the boy himself let us know, is moonstruck madness."

"Ah, moonstruck madness! Ah, the boy! Yes, yes," said Monsieur Joseph, dreamily, and he also took his leave.

Monsieur Urbain and his wife followed immediately. Angelot had not waited for them and the little hooded carriage, but had walked on across the valley in the cool damp darkness. They talked very seriously as they drove home, for once in entire agreement. When they reached the manor, their son had shut himself into his own room, and they did not disturb him.

"I hope you will soon keep your word, and find a suitable husband for Helene," Madame de Sainfoy said to her husband. "I am a little tired of the business."

"I don't think there will be much difficulty. We must look further afield. Plenty of men of our own rank have accepted the Empire, and Helene is a match for a Prince, though our little cousin refuses her! I rather like that boy."

"Do you? I do not. Certainly he was candid—and he put an effectual stop to his uncle's absurdities. He is really out of his mind, that man. I wish the Chouans joy of him."

"Poor Joseph! After all, he is an excellent creature. In these days, it is amusing to meet any one so wild and so romantic."

"I find it tiresome," said Adelaide.



CHAPTER XI

HOW MONSIEUR URBAIN SMOKED A CIGAR

These days before the vintage were very peaceful at La Mariniere. Monsieur and Madame Urbain were practical people, and idleness, as a rule, had a bad time of it with them; but September was a holiday month, and there was little work going on, except the hammering of barrels in the yard, and other preparations for busy October. September was usually the month when Angelot could shoot and ramble to his heart's content, when Urbain had leisure to sit down with a book at other times than evening, when Anne, her poor people visited, nursed, comforted, her household in quiet old-fashioned order, could spend long hours alone praying and meditating in the little old church.

Lancilly had brought disturbance into September. It occupied Urbain's thoughts and time, it seemed now to be throwing its net over Angelot. Anne longed still more for peace and refuge under the low white arches of the church, in her visits to le bon Dieu; and even here her thoughts distracted her.

She came back from early mass, the morning after the dinner party, to find Angelot already gone out with his gun, and her husband just starting for Lancilly.

"He is not gone that way, I hope?" she said quickly.

"No, no, he is gone across the fields towards Les Chouettes. I told him to bring back some partridge and quail, and a hare or two, if possible. I think he is gone to make his peace with Joseph."

"I should like to know the meaning of all that. I must talk to him when he comes in."

"My dear Anne, do nothing of the sort. Let the boy alone. If he has a fancy for his cousin, and if Joseph guessed it, which I suspect, it is better for us to ignore it altogether."

"I am afraid he has, do you know. I did not think so till last night—but then I saw something. So did Monsieur de Mauves. He said as much. He advised sending Ange into the army—but you will never do that, Urbain!"

A gold mist filled the valley, hiding Lancilly, and through it rose the glittering points of the poplars. She walked with him to the garden gate, past the trim box hedges, and then down the lane towards the church. Apple-trees, heavy with red fruit, bent over the way, as safe on that village road as in any fenced orchard.

"I do not want to send him into the army," Urbain said, and he looked at her tenderly.

He had long doubted whether, to please her, he was not spoiling and wasting the boy's life. He was sometimes angry with himself for his weakness; then again philosophy came to his aid: he laughed and shrugged his shoulders. It had always been so: on one side the bringing up of his son according to his own mind; and on the other, domestic peace. For his little Anne, with all her religion, perhaps because of it, was anything but meek as a wife and mother. It was fortunate for all parties, he now thought, that the present slight anxiety found her and himself on the same side, though for different reasons.

"Helene is an astonishingly pretty girl," he said, "and the sooner she is married the better. Young men will be foolish."

"More than pretty—beautiful, I think. A little lifeless—I don't know that I should fall in love with her. Yes—but a good marriage, poor girl. Not to that monster! Adelaide amazes me."

Urbain's ugly face curled up in a rather sardonic smile. He took his wife's hand and kissed it.

"My little lady, Adelaide is to be admired. You are to be adored. Go and say your prayers for us all."

He disappeared into the morning mist, which just then moved and swept away under a light wind, opening to view all the opposite slope and the gorgeous, sun-bathed front of Lancilly.

"Ah, mon Dieu!" murmured Anne. "To lose both of them to Lancilly—come, it is too much. You shall not have Ange, you horrible old walls—no!"

By this time Urbain had disappeared round the corner of the church, and was hurrying down the hill. She slipped in at her own little door, to her place near the altar, so lately left. All was silent now, the Cure was gone; she knelt there alone and prayed for them all, as Urbain had said. His words were mockery, she knew; but that only made her prayers more earnest.

The misty autumn morning grew into a cloudless day. Urbain came home to breakfast between ten and eleven, but Angelot did not appear. Urbain was grave and full of business. A short talk with Herve, who was going out shooting, a much longer and more interesting talk with Adelaide, had the consequence of sending him off that very day to the town of Sonnay-le-Loir, the Prefect's residence and General Ratoneau's headquarters.

It was not exactly a pleasant errand, to convey Monsieur and Madame de Sainfoy's refusal of his offer to a man like the General. It could have been done quite as easily by the post, thus sparing trouble and annoyance to the faithful cousin who had borne so much. But there were complications; and a careful talking over of these with Adelaide, after Herve was gone, had led Urbain to suggest going himself. He had a double reason for wishing to soften the effect of his cousin's rather short and haughty letter. It must go, of course, whatever his own and Madame de Sainfoy's disapproval; but there were things that diplomacy might do, without, as it seemed, any serious consequences to recoil on the diplomatists. Madame de Sainfoy might gain imperial favour, Monsieur de la Mariniere might help her and save his foolish boy, and no one in the family, except themselves, need know what they were doing.

It was not an uncommon thing for Urbain to drive over to Sonnay, though he generally started much earlier. On this occasion he said nothing of his real errand to his wife, only telling her when she mentioned Helene's marriage that Herve continued in the same mind. Many things wanted for the house and the farm had come conveniently to his memory. He started with his groom at twelve o'clock, in the high, hooded carriage, with a pair of strong horses, which made short work of the rocky lanes about La Mariniere. The high road towards Sonnay was smooth compared with these, running between belts of dark forest, and along it Monsieur Urbain drove at a good rattling pace of twelve miles an hour.

Sonnay-le-Loir was a beautiful and picturesque town, once strongly defended, both by walls and a deep river which flowed round below them. There was a good deal left of the old ramparts; the gates still stood, the narrow streets of tall old white houses, each with its court and carriage entrance and shady garden behind, went climbing up the hill to the large square where the Cathedral towered on one side, the town-hall and public offices filled up another, the Prefecture a third, and an old hotel, now used as military quarters, the fourth.

Though it was not market-day, the white cobbled square was cheerful enough; a few stalls of fruit and vegetables, sheltered by coloured umbrellas from the strong sunshine, were lodged about the broad steps of the Cathedral; peasants and townspeople were clattering about in their sabots, soldiers were being drilled in front of the hotel. The bells were chiming and clanging; high up into the blue air soared the tall pinnacles of the Cathedral, delicate stone lacework still fresh and young at five hundred years old, spared by the storm which twenty years ago had wrecked so much down below that was beautiful. A crowd of blue-grey pigeons flapped and cooed about the towers or strutted softly on the stones in the square.

Monsieur Urbain put up his horses at an old posting hotel in the street near the gateway, and walked up into the square. Finding that General Ratoneau was at home, he left Monsieur de Sainfoy's letter with his own card, and a message that he would have the honour of calling to see the General, later in the afternoon. He then went away to do his commissions. At the appointed time he returned to the hotel, and was at once shown upstairs to a large room at the back, looking on a broad, paved court surrounded by barracks.

Neither the room nor its inmate was attractive, and Urbain's humorous face screwed itself into a grimace of disgust as he walked in; but he did not, for that, renounce the errand with which Madame de Sainfoy had entrusted him. The floor was dusty and strewn with papers, the walls were stained, the furniture, handsome in itself, had been much ill-used, and two or three chairs now lay flung where it was tolerably evident that the General had kicked them. The western sun poured hotly in; the atmosphere was of wine, tobacco, and boots; dirty packs of cards were scattered on the table among bottles and glasses, pipes and cigars. General Ratoneau lay stretched on a large sofa in undress uniform, with a red face and a cigar in his mouth. Herve de Sainfoy's letter, torn across, lay on the floor beside him.

He got up and received his visitor with formal civility, though his looks said plainly, "What the devil do you want here?"

Urbain was cool and self-possessed. He acted the role of an ordinary visitor, talking of the country and the news from Spain. The General, though extremely grumpy, was still capable of ordinary conversation, and his remarks, especially on the Spanish campaign, were those of an intelligent soldier who knew his subject.

"If the Emperor would send me to Spain," he growled, "I would teach those miserable Spaniards a lesson. As to the English, it is the desire of my life to fight them. They are bull-dogs, they say—sapristi, I am something of a bull-dog myself—when I lay hold, I don't often let go. You don't know me yet, monsieur, but you will find that that is my way. I am not easily thwarted, monsieur."

"A fine quality, Monsieur le General!" said Urbain, calmly. "It is true, I hardly know you. I had heard of you from my brother, Joseph de la Mariniere—"

"Your Chouan brother, ha, ha!"

"My Royalist brother, suppose we say. Every one has a right to his own private opinions, Monsieur le General."

"A dangerous doctrine, that!"

"As long as he keeps them to himself, and does not disturb the public peace. I have acted successfully on that principle for the last thirty years, and it has carried me comfortably through various changes."

"What are you, monsieur?"

"A philosopher. I take life as it comes. That way happiness lies."

The General laughed. "I think differently. My idea is to make life come as I want it."

"That is a fine idea, too," Urbain said serenely. "Only it does not always seem to be within the limits of the possible."

"Ah, there I agree with the Emperor. He will not have the word 'impossible' in the dictionary."

"The Emperor is a great man," said Urbain, with his inscrutable smile.

It was certainly on Ratoneau's tongue to answer, "So am I!" but he only laughed again and muttered something about strength of will.

The dark, watchful eyes followed his visitor's to the floor, where Monsieur de Sainfoy's letter lay; that letter which seemed to belie his bull-dog boasting. Something he wanted in life had been refused him point-blank; in ceremonious terms, but with uncompromising plainness. The Comte de Sainfoy did not even trouble himself to find reasons for declining the offer of marriage that General Ratoneau had done Mademoiselle de Sainfoy the honour to make.

"We met last night at Lancilly, monsieur," said Ratoneau, "but I did not expect the politeness of a visit from you—at any rate so soon. But I understand that you are your cousin's messenger. You brought me that letter—neither did I expect that so soon."

He pointed to the fragments on the floor. His manner was insolent, and La Mariniere felt it so; even to his seasoned cheek a little warmth found its way. Something of him was on Herve's side, while he was prepared and resolved to serve Adelaide in this matter.

"My own affairs brought me to Sonnay," he said. "My cousin wished you to receive his letter as soon as might be. I therefore took charge of it."

"Do you know what it is about?"

To this abrupt question Urbain answered by a bow.

The General frowned angrily. "Then what brought you here, monsieur? Do you want to report my disappointment to your aristocratic fool of a cousin? Merci!" and he swore a few hearty oaths. "There are plenty more pretty girls in France, and plenty of their fathers who would gladly be linked with the Empire. Take that message back to your cousin, if you please."

"But no, Monsieur le General," said Urbain, smiling and shaking his head. "If I were to repeat all you have just said, my cousin might send me back to you with a challenge. And I am a man of peace, a philosopher, as I tell you. No, I did not come to report your disappointment. And indeed, to tell you the truth, my cousin did not know that I was going to visit you at all. And I do not think he will ever be wiser."

Ratoneau stared at him. "May I be extinguished if I understand you!"

"However," said Urbain, rising from his chair, "I am glad, personally, that you take the matter so well. As you say, the young ladies of France, and their fathers, will not all be so shortsighted."

"Thousand thunders! Sit down again, monsieur. Take one of these cigars—I had them from Spain—and try this Chateau Latour. Rather a different sort of thing from the stuff that son of yours expected me to enjoy at Les Chouettes, the other day. That's right. I like you, monsieur. You are a man without prejudices; one can talk frankly with you. Your health, monsieur!" and glasses were clinked together, for Urbain did not refuse the soldier's hospitality.

"Now tell me all about it!" cried the General, in a much better humour. "I understand your emphasis just now, sapristi! That was what puzzled me, that Madame la Comtesse should seem to have played me false. Last night, I assure you, she encouraged me to the utmost. At first, it's true, she muttered something about her daughter being too young, but I very soon convinced her what a foolish argument that was. I tell you, monsieur, when I left her, I considered the promise as good as made. She said her husband had a way of indulging his daughter's fancies—but after all, I took her to be a woman who could turn husband and daughter and everybody else round her little finger, if she chose. So this rag of a letter came upon me like a thunderbolt. Is that it? Has the young girl taken a dislike to me? Why, mille tonnerres, she has not even spoken to me, nor I to her!"

"No, Monsieur le General," said Urbain, "Mademoiselle de Sainfoy has not been asked for her opinion. The decision comes from her father, and from him alone. Madame de Sainfoy was loyal to you; she urged your cause, but unsuccessfully. My cousin, I must say, much as I love him, showed a certain narrowness and obstinacy. He would hear nothing in favour of the marriage."

"Were you present when they discussed it?"

"I was. I am always on the advanced, the liberal side. I spoke in your favour."

"I am obliged to you. Your glass, monsieur. How do you find that cigar?"

"Excellent."

"Now, monsieur, give me your advice, for I see you are a clever man. First, is any other marriage on the tapis for Mademoiselle de Sainfoy?"

"Decidedly no, monsieur. None."

"Shall I then insist on seeing her, and pleading my cause for myself?"

"I should not advise that course," said Urbain, and there was something in his discreet smile which made the General's red face redder with a touch of mortification.

"Well, I should not eat her," he said. "Her mother found me agreeable enough, and a shy young girl rather likes a man who takes her by storm."

"Nevertheless, I think that plan would not answer. For one thing, my cousin would object: he considers his refusal final. In fact—after much thought—for I agree with Madame de Sainfoy as to the probable advantages of a connection with a distinguished man like yourself—in fact, there is only one faint possibility that occurs to me."

"What is that, monsieur?"

Urbain hesitated. He sat looking out of the window, frowning slightly, the tips of his fingers pressed together.

"I wonder," he said—something, perhaps conscience, made the words long in coming—"I wonder if some day, in the course of the reports that he is bound, I believe, to make to the Emperor, it might occur to Monsieur le Prefet to mention—"

General Ratoneau stared blankly. "Monsieur le Prefet?"

"Well, am I wrong? I heard something of an imperial order—a list of young ladies—marriages arranged by His Majesty, without much consulting of family prejudices—"

General Ratoneau brought down his heavy fist on the table, so that the glasses jumped and clattered. His language was startling.

"Monsieur de la Mariniere, you are the cleverest man in Anjou!" he shouted. "And Madame la Comtesse would not be angry?"

"I think not. But a command from the Emperor—a command coming independently from the highest quarter—would naturally carry all before it," said Urbain.



CHAPTER XII

HOW THE PREFECT'S DOG SNAPPED AT THE GENERAL

The shadows were lengthening when Urbain de la Mariniere at last left the General's hotel, and walked thoughtfully across the square, past the Prefecture, down the street to find his carriage.

He had resisted the temptation of dining with the officers and playing cards afterwards, though he by no means disliked either a game of chance or a good dinner. It seemed to him that he had done as much in Madame de Sainfoy's interests as she could reasonably expect. Though there might be worse men, General Ratoneau could not be called a pleasant companion. His loud voice and swaggering manners could not be agreeable to a person of Monsieur Urbain's measured mind and self-controlled ways. He was a type, and in that way interesting. The strange likeness to his master lent him a touch of character, almost of distinction, neither of which really belonged to him; yet, somehow, by a certain appeal to the imagination, it made him a just possible husband for a girl of good family. Not a gentleman, or anything like one; yet not quite the ordinary bourgeois. Considering the times, it appeared to Urbain that his cousin de Sainfoy need not be actually ashamed of such a son-in-law. Anyhow, he had done his best to further the matter, with an earnest recommendation to the General to keep his name out of the affair.

"Why not?" said Ratoneau. "You only reminded me of what I knew before. In fact, it was through me you heard of it. I startled your brother with it; our dear Prefect would never have said a word on the subject—ha, ha! So I owe you no gratitude, monsieur. You have done nothing."

"Ah, but just a little gratitude, if you please," said Urbain, smiling. "Enough to shut your ears to any reports that may reach you about my brother Joseph."

Ratoneau looked at him sharply, and frowned.

"I can make no bargains as to my duty, monsieur. Let your brother be loyal."

"I do my utmost to make him so," said Urbain, still smiling, and they parted.

"He is right—the man is right—and by heaven, I respect him!" Urbain said to himself as he crossed the square.

Passing near the great gate of the Prefecture, he noticed a police officer loitering on the pavement, whose dark, keen, discontented face seemed not unknown to him.

As Urbain came nearer, this man raised his hand to his cap, and spoke with an impudent grin.

"Monsieur de la Mariniere has been making peace with Monsieur le General Ratoneau? It was a difficult matter, I bet! Monsieur has been successful?"

Urbain looked at the man steadily. He was not easily made angry.

"Who are you, my friend? and what do you mean?" he said.

"I am Simon, the police agent, monsieur. The affair rather interested me. I was there."

"What affair?"

"Your son's affair with the General. That droll adventure of the cattle in the lane—your cattle, monsieur, and it was your son's fault that the General was thrown. Monsieur heard of it, surely?"

"You are mistaken," Monsieur Urbain replied quietly. "It was an accident; it was not my son's fault. Nobody has ever thought of it or mentioned it since. It was nothing."

"General Ratoneau did not think it nothing. All we who were there, we saw the droll side of it, but he did not. He swore he would have his revenge on Monsieur Angelot, as they call him. He has not forgotten it, monsieur. Only last night, his servant told me, when he came back from dining at Lancilly, he was swearing about it again."

"Let him swear!" said Urbain, under his breath.

Then his eyes dwelt a moment on Simon, who looked the very incarnation of malice and mischief, and he smiled benignly.

"Merci, Monsieur Simon," he said. "We are fortunate in having you to watch over us. But do not let this anxiety trouble you. I have just been spending some time with General Ratoneau, as you appear to know. We are the best of friends, and if my son irritated him the other day, I think he has forgotten it."

"So much the better," grinned Simon, "for Monsieur le General would not be a pleasant enemy." Then, as Urbain was walking on, he detained him. "Everybody must respect Monsieur Urbain de la Mariniere," he said. "He has a difficult position. If certain eyes were not wilfully shut, serious things might happen in his family. And we sometimes ask ourselves, we of the police, whether closed eyes at headquarters ought to mean a silent tongue all round. How does it strike you, monsieur?"

Urbain hesitated a moment. He had done a certain amount of bribery in his day, for the sake of those he loved, but his native good sense and obstinacy alike arose against being blackmailed by a police spy, a subordinate official at best. The fellow could not do Joseph much harm, he thought, the Prefect being friendly, and the General likely to be a connection. And Joseph must in the future be loyal, as the General said. No; he might as well keep his napoleons in his pocket.

"I really have no time to discuss the subject," he said. "The police, like every one else, must do their duty according to their lights. Good-day, Monsieur Simon."

He touched his hat and walked on. Simon looked after him, muttering viciously.

After some minutes, a clash of arms from the opposite hotel archway drew his attention. The sentries were saluting the General as he came out, now in full uniform, and followed by two orderlies, while a third went before to announce him at the Prefecture.

Ratoneau looked every inch a soldier, broad, sturdy, and swaggering, as he clanked across the square. Simon noticed with surprise that his face was bright with most unusual good-humour.

"Why, what can that grinning monkey have been saying to him?" Simon asked himself. "Licking the dust off his boots somehow, for that is what he likes, the parvenu! They are like cats, those La Marinieres! they always know how to please everybody, and to get their own way. It seems to me they want a lesson."

He moved a little nearer to the great gates, and watched the General as he walked in. The bell clanged, the sentries saluted, the gates were set open ceremoniously. With all his frank, soldierly ways, Ratoneau was extremely jealous of his position and the respect due to it. The Prefect, on the contrary, aimed at simplicity and liked solitude. His wife had died some years before, not surviving the death of her parents, guillotined in the Terror. If she had lived, her influence being very great, Monsieur de Mauves might never have held his present appointment; for her royalism was quite as pronounced as that of Anne de la Mariniere and might have overpowered her husband's admiration for Napoleon. And this would have been a pity, for no part of France, at this time, had a wiser or more acceptable governor.

On that calm and sunny autumn afternoon, the Prefect was sitting in a classically pillared summerhouse near the open windows of his library. Late roses climbed and clustered above his amiable head; lines of orange trees in square green boxes were set along the broad gravel terrace outside, and there was a pleasant view down a walk to a playing fountain with trees about it, beyond which some of the high grey roofs of Sonnay shone in the sunlight.

The Prefect never smoked; his snuff-box and a book were enough for him. Monsieur de Chateaubriand's Itineraire de Paris a Jerusalem, just published in three volumes, lay on a marble table beside him, and he was enjoying an hour of unusual peace and quietness, his only companions two little greyhounds sleeping at his feet.



It was with a touch of mental annoyance, therefore, that he received the announcement of General Ratoneau's visit. But he was far too well bred to show a sign of such feeling. He left that to the little dogs, who barked their disapproval. He closed his book, went to meet the General in the library, and invited him out to his favourite seat in the summer-house. They were an odd contrast as they sat there together; the quiet, graceful gentleman in ordinary morning dress of an easy description, the soldier, impatient and rough in manner, flashing at every point with gold lace and polished leather.

"Monsieur le Prefet, I have a favour to ask," Ratoneau began.

He did not often speak so civilly, and the Prefect felt relieved, for he had had more than one bad quarter of an hour with this colleague of his.

"How can I oblige you, Monsieur le General?" he asked, smiling.

"By doing your duty," said Ratoneau, with a grin.

The Prefect shrugged his shoulders slightly, raised his eyebrows and looked at him.

"I ought not," he said, "to need the additional inducement of doing you a favour. I was not aware of having neglected any duty. To what, pray, do you refer?"

"I refer to an order from the Emperor which you have not obeyed."

"Indeed?"

The Prefect's smile had now quite faded. "An order from the Emperor!" he repeated.

"Yes. His Majesty ordered you to report to him the names and particulars of all young girls of good family in the department."

"And what of that, monsieur?"

"I am quite sure you have not done so."

Something in the General's tone was so displeasing to one of the Prefect's little dogs, that it suddenly sprang up and snapped at him. Its master just saved it from a kick by catching it up on his knee.

"A bas, Toutou!" he said, softly stroking it, and took a pinch of snuff, regarding the General with a curiously patient expression.

"I know you have done nothing of the sort!" Ratoneau repeated.

"And how, may I ask, does the matter interest you?"

The Prefect spoke slowly and gently; yet something in his manner irritated the General. He made an impatient movement and rattled his sword.

"It does interest me," he said. "How can you disobey an order from the Emperor?"

"As to that, my dear colleague, I am responsible. You know the view I take of that order. I am not alone. Several of my brother Prefects agree with me. It is impolitic, and worse, offensive. The Emperor is reasonable, and does not expect a blind obedience which would really do harm to the Empire."

"Do not make too sure of that, Monsieur le Prefet."

"If the old provincial families are to be brought round en masse to the Empire, it must be done by diplomacy, not by a tyrannical domestic legislation."

"At that rate, Monsieur le Prefet, the work will take a hundred years. They laugh at your diplomacy, these infernal old families. Propose a soldier as a husband for one of their daughters, and you will see."

"I have not done so," the Prefect said very drily, and the glance that shot from under his quiet eyelids might have made a thin-skinned person uncomfortable.

"And nothing would make you do so, I suppose," sneered the General. "Come, monsieur, you should forget your aristocracy now and then, and remember that you are a servant of the Emperor. People will begin to say that His Majesty might be better served."

Monsieur de Mauves shrugged his shoulders, and reflected that if the Emperor had wished to punish him for some crime, he could not have done it better than by giving him this person for a colleague. Fortunately he had a splendid temper; Urbain de la Mariniere himself was not endowed with a larger share of sweet reasonableness. Most men would not have endured the General's insolence for five minutes. The Prefect's love of peace and sense of public duty, united with extreme fairness of mind, helped him to make large allowances for his fellow-official. He knew that Ratoneau's vapouring talk was oftener in coarse joke than in sober earnest. He had, in truth, a very complete scorn of him, and hardly thought him worthy of a gentleman's steel. As to veiled threats such as that which had just fallen from his lips, the Prefect found them altogether beneath serious notice.

"Let us arrive at understanding each other, General," he said coldly, but very politely. "You began by asking me to do you a favour. Then you branched off to a duty I had neglected. You now give me a friendly warning. Is it, perhaps, because you fear to lose me as a colleague, that you have become anxious about my reports to His Majesty?" he smiled. "Or, how, I ask again, does the matter interest you?"

"In this way, Monsieur le Prefet," said Ratoneau. He pulled himself together, keeping his bullying instincts in check. After all, he knew he would be a fool to quarrel with the Prefect or to rouse his active opposition. "No offence?" he said gruffly. "You know me—you know my rough tongue."

The Prefect bowed courteously, and handed him his snuff-box.

"You saw last night at Lancilly," said Ratoneau, much more quietly, "that I had a long talk with Madame la Comtesse."

"A charming woman," said Monsieur de Mauves. "Certainly—you told me the subject of your talk, if you remember. Did you arrive then at any conclusion? What was our hostess's advice on that interesting subject? Did she suggest—the name of any lady, for instance?"

He noticed with a touch of amusement that the General looked slightly confused.

"I made a suggestion; and Madame de Sainfoy accepted it very kindly. In fact, Monsieur le Prefet, I asked her for her daughter, Mademoiselle Helene."

Monsieur de Mauves knew that he ought to have been prepared for this answer; yet, somehow, he was not. Fixing his eyes on the yellow marble mosaic under his feet, he realised once more the frightful contrast that had struck him a few hours before in the lighted salon at Lancilly. "La belle Helene," as everybody called her; the pale, beautiful girl with the sad eyes and enchanting smile, walking through the long room with her boy cousin, himself in his slender elance beauty a perfect match for her, so that the eighteenth century might have painted them as two young deities from the Court of Olympus, come down to earth to show mortals a vision of the ideal! And General Ratoneau, the ponderous bully in uniform, the incarnation of the Empire's worst side!

"Sacrilege!"

Last night, the Prefect had thought the same. But he had then added "Impossible!" and now it seemed that the girl's mother did not agree with him. Could ambition carry a woman through such a slough as this? did she really mean to gain imperial favour by such a sacrifice?

For a moment or two the Prefect was lost in a dream; then he suddenly recovered himself.

"Pardon—and you say that Madame de Sainfoy accepted—"

"She thanked me for the honour," said the General, a little stiffly. "She expressed herself favourably. She only asked me to have patience till she could consult her husband. Between ourselves, madame knows that I could be of use to her at Court."

"Could you?"

"Certainly, Monsieur le Prefet. My friend, the Baron de Beauclair, is an equerry to Her Majesty the Empress."

"Oh!" Evidently the Prefect knew and cared little about the Baron de Beauclair. "But, Monsieur le General," he said, with a puzzled frown, "I am still at a loss to understand you. Your course is apparently smooth. Why do you want the help of an imperial order which, if it did no other harm, would almost certainly set Monsieur de Sainfoy against you?"

Ratoneau's dark face flushed crimson. "Mille tonnerres, Monsieur le Prefet," he growled out, "Monsieur de Sainfoy is against me already, confound him! This afternoon he sent me a letter, flatly declining my proposal for his daughter."

"Is it possible!"

The Prefect had some difficulty in hiding the sincere, if inconsistent, joy that this news gave him.

"Well done!" he thought. "I should have expected nothing less. Ah! I see, I see," he said aloud. "Monsieur de Sainfoy does not quite share his wife's ambitions. It is unfortunate for you, certainly. But if you wish to marry into an old family, there are others—"

Ratoneau stared at him and laughed.

"What do you take me for? Am I beaten so easily? No, monsieur! Mademoiselle de Sainfoy is the woman I mean to marry. I admire that white skin, that perfect distinction. You will not put me off with some ugly little brown toad out of Brittany, I assure you!"

The Prefect laughed.

"But what is to be done? Unless you can gain her father's consent—"

"That is the favour you will do me, Monsieur le Prefet. You will write to headquarters, do you see, and an order will be sent down—yes, an order which her father would not disobey if he were a dozen dukes rolled into one, instead of being what he is, a poor emigrant count helped back into France by wiser men than himself! Voila, monsieur! Do you understand me now?"

"Ah—yes, General, I understand you," said Monsieur de Mauves.

He leaned back in the corner of the marble seat, calm and deliberate, gently stroking the little dog on his knee. Those long white fingers had lifted the lid of Henriette's basket, those keen eyes, now thoughtfully lowered, had seen the hiding-place of the Chouans in Monsieur Joseph's wood; yet no harm had come to the Royalist conspirators. And now, when an official of the Empire asked his help in a private matter, help strictly legal, even within the limits of an imperial command, again this blameworthy Prefect would not stir a finger. He was running himself into greater danger than he knew, in the satisfaction of his gentle instincts, when he glanced up into the bold, angry, eager face beside him, and said with uncompromising clearness: "Do not deceive yourself, monsieur. I shall not write to headquarters on any such subject, and no such order will be sent down through any action or influence of mine. The Comte de Sainfoy is my friend, remember."

Ratoneau was choking with rage.

"You defy me, monsieur!" he snarled.

"Why—if such a desperate course is necessary," the Prefect murmured. "But I would rather reason with you."



CHAPTER XIII

HOW MONSIEUR SIMON SHOWED HIMSELF A LITTLE TOO CLEVER

General Ratoneau had gone into the Prefecture in a good humour; he came out in a bad one. The change was not lost on the police agent, still loitering under the shade of the high white wall.

Simon was a malcontent. He had talent, he wanted power. No one was cleverer at hunting out the details of a case; he was a born detective. It was hard on such a man, who intended to rise high in his profession, and found the spying and chasing of state criminals an agreeable duty, to be under the orders of so weak-kneed an official as the Baron de Mauves. What was the use of giving in reports that were never acted on! In other departments there were substantial money rewards to be had, if a police spy, at his own risk, hunted out treason against the Empire. In other departments a Prefect made it worth while, in every sense, for his subordinates to do their duty. In this one, since the present Prefect came into office, there was neither rising pay nor quick promotion. He drove with a slack rein; his weapons were trust and kindness. He had to be driven to extremities before he would treat anybody, even a proved Chouan, with the rigour of the law. Simon tried to do a little terrorising on his own account, and had made some money by blackmailing less wide-awake men than Urbain de la Mariniere; but, on the whole, he earned more hatred than anything else in his prowlings round the country.

Ratoneau, coming out with a sulky, scowling face from his interview with the Prefect, happened to look up as he passed Simon, and the fellow's expression struck him oddly. It was full of intelligence, and of a queer kind of sympathy. He had noticed it before. Simon had made himself useful to him in several underhand ways.

"What do you want?" he said, stopping suddenly.

Simon stepped up close to him, so that neither sentries nor passers-by might hear.

"Me? I want nothing. I was only thinking that Monsieur le General had been annoyed. A thousand pardons! I was only wondering—well, I have my provocations too, plenty of them!"

"I'll be bound you have, in such a service as yours," said the General, staring at him. "Come to the hotel this evening, and I'll talk to you."

The officers who dined that day with their chief found his company less attractive than ever. He was wrapped up in his own thoughts, and to judge by his face, they were anything but agreeable. The whole mess was glad to be relieved of his scowling presence unusually early. He had drunk little, and went away unusually sober; but that was not always a good sign with him. If he chose to keep a clear brain, it was generally for his own ends, and they were seldom virtuous or desirable.

The General was scarcely in his own room when Simon presented himself, sneaking upstairs with a light tread and slipping noiselessly through the door, his dark face full of eager expectation. He had often wondered whether there might not be some special dirty work to be done for the General, and had taken pains to keep himself under his eye and in his good looks. If the civil power chose to let the Chouans have it all their own way, the military power might one of these days step in effectively. But Simon was not particular. Whatever the work might be, public or private, he was at the service of the authorities. If only the authorities would take his view of their interest and duty!

It was a little difficult to stand unmoved under General Ratoneau's bullying stare. Simon did so, however, his mouth only working a little at the corners. How far might he go with this man? he was asking himself. Ratoneau did not keep him long in suspense. He suddenly took his cigar from his mouth, swore a tremendous oath, and kicked a chair across the room.

"Are you to be trusted, fellow?" he said.

"I have kept a few secrets, monsieur," Simon answered discreetly.

"Then here is another for you. I wish that chair was Monsieur le Baron de Mauves."

"Ah! Indeed! There has been some disagreement. I saw it, when Monsieur le General came out of the Prefecture this afternoon."

"You saw it, did you? No wonder! I try to hide nothing—why should I? But tell me, I beseech you, why are we in this miserable department cursed with a feather-bed for a governor?"

"If I might venture in this presence to say so," murmured Simon, "I have often asked the same question. A feather-bed, yes—and it would be softer and quieter to kick than that arrangement of wood and nails!" He muttered the last sentence between his teeth with an amused grin, for General Ratoneau, striding round the room in a whirlwind of kicks and oaths, was making far too much noise to hear him.

At last, his wrath having exploded, the General flung himself back on his sofa and said, "The Prefect is a fool, and I hate him."

"Tiens!" Simon whistled softly and long. "This is something new—and serious!" he murmured.

The General turned upon him instantly, with a severe air.

"What is your grievance against the Prefect?"

"Ah—well, monsieur, when you come to grievances—a grievance is a valuable thing—yes, sometimes a small fortune lies in a grievance."

"I believe you are a liar!"

"Pardon, monsieur—what lie have I told?"

"You said you had had provocations. You called Monsieur le Prefet a feather-bed, meaning that he had smothered and stifled you. I don't believe a word of it!"

"Oh! Monsieur le General is very clever!" Simon ventured on a small laugh.

"Come, don't play with me, you rascal. What complaint have you to make?"

"Monsieur le General may have had a slight difference to-day with Monsieur le Prefet, but they will be reconciled to-morrow. Why should I give myself away and put myself in their power for nothing?"

"You are a fool! What complaint have you to make against Monsieur le Prefet?"

"I am not a fool, monsieur. That is just it. Therefore, I will not tell you—not yet, at least."

"Then why did you come here? What did you suppose I wanted you for?"

"To do some work, for which I might possibly be paid."

"Is it a question of pay?"

"Partly, monsieur. I made some valuable discoveries a week or two ago, and they have turned out of no use whatever. Here am I still an ordinary police officer, my work not acknowledged in any way, by praise, pay, or promotion. I tried on my own account to verify my discoveries and to find out more. This day, this very morning, I am warned to let the whole thing alone, to say nothing, even to the commissary of police."

The General hesitated. He was grave and thoughtful enough now.

He took out five napoleons and pushed them across the table to Simon, who picked them up quickly and greedily.

"Merci, Monsieur le General!"

"Chouannerie?" said Ratoneau.

Simon grinned.

"Ah, monsieur, this is not enough to make me safe. I must have five thousand francs at least, to carry me away out of the Prefect's reach, if I tell his little secrets to Monsieur le General."

"Five thousand devils! Do you think I am made of money? What do I want with your miserable secrets? What are the Chouans to me? The Prefect may be a Chouan himself, I dare say: stranger things have happened."

Simon shrugged his shoulders. His face was full of cunning and of secret knowledge.

"If Monsieur le General wants a real hold over Monsieur le Prefet," he said, with his eyes fixed on Ratoneau's face—"why then, these secrets of mine are worth the money. Of course, there is another thing for me to do. I can go to Paris and lay the whole thing before the Minister of Police or Monsieur le Comte Real. I had thought of that. But—the Government is generally ungrateful—and if there were any private service to be done for Monsieur le General, I should like it better. Besides, it is just possible that I might be doing harm to some of your friends, monsieur."

"My friends? How?"

"Ah! voila! I can mention no names," said Simon.

The General took out his pocket-book and gave him a note for a thousand francs.

"Out with it, fellow. I hate mysteries," he said.

"Pardon, Monsieur le General! I said five thousand."

"Well, there are two more. Not another penny till you have explained yourself. And then, if I am not satisfied, I shall turn you over to my guard to be flogged for theft and lying. And I doubt if they will leave much in your pockets."

"You treat me like a Jew, monsieur!"

"You are a Jew. Go on. What are these grand discoveries that Monsieur le Prefet will have nothing to do with?"

"A Chouan plot, monsieur. The conspirators have met, more than once, I believe, at Monsieur de la Mariniere's house, Les Chouettes. They were there that day, when Monsieur le Prefet and Monsieur le General breakfasted with him. That day when we met a herd of cows in the lane—"

"Hold your tongue, you scoundrel. You are telling me a pack of lies. The place was quiet and empty, no one there but ourselves. Why, we strolled about there the whole afternoon without seeing a single living creature except a little girl gathering flowers in the meadow."

"Ah, monsieur! See what it is to be an agent de police. To have eyes and ears, and to know how to use them! Worth a reward, is it not? I had not been an hour at Les Chouettes before I knew everything."

And five minutes had not passed before General Ratoneau was in possession of all that Simon knew or suspected. Every one was implicated; master, servants, the four guests, whose voices he had recognised as he prowled in the wood, Angelot, and even the child Henriette.

"Gathering flowers in the meadow!" the spy laughed maliciously. "She ought to be in prison at this moment with her father and her cousin."

"Sapristi! And the Prefect knew all this?" growled the General.

"I told him at the time, monsieur. As he was strolling about after breakfast with Monsieur de la Mariniere, I called him aside and told him. Of course I expected an order to arrest the whole party. We were armed, we could have done it very well, even then, though they outnumbered us. Since then I have viewed the ground again, and caught the Baron d'Ombre breakfasting there, the most desperate Chouan in these parts. I questioned old Joubard the farmer, too, for his loyalty is none too firm. Well, when I came to report this to Monsieur le Prefet, he only told me again to be silent. And this very morning, after conferring with some of these Chouan gentlemen last night at Lancilly, as I happen to know, he told me to let the matter alone, to keep away from Les Chouettes and leave Monsieur de la Mariniere to do as he pleased."

The General stared and grunted. Honestly, he was very much astonished.

"That afternoon! The devil! who would have thought it?" he muttered to himself.

"It is not that Monsieur le Prefet is disloyal to the Empire," Simon went on, "though he might easily be made to appear so. It is that he thinks there is no policy like a merciful one. Also he is too soft-hearted, and too kind to his friends."

"By heaven! those are fortunate who find him so."

"The old friends of the country, monsieur. It is amazing how they hang together. Monsieur Joseph de la Mariniere is brother of Monsieur Urbain, Monsieur Ange is Monsieur Urbain's son, Monsieur le Comte de Sainfoy is their cousin—and I heard the servants saying, only last night, how beautiful the two young people looked, handing the coffee together—though I should certainly have thought, myself, that Monsieur le Comte would have made a better marriage than that for his daughter. But they say the young gentleman's face—"

"Stop your fool's chatter!" cried the General, furiously.

"But that is just what I said, monsieur, to the Prefect's fellow who told me. I said this young Angelot was a silly boy who cared for nothing but practical jokes. Besides, if he is mixed up in Chouan conspiracies, Monsieur de Sainfoy could hardly afford—and after all, cousins are cousins. You may be very intimate with a cousin, but it does not follow—does it, monsieur?"

"Once for all, put that foolery out of your head. Now listen. You have told me your grievance against the Prefect. I will tell you mine."

And the police officer listened with all his ears, while General Ratoneau told him his story of last night and to-day.

"Ah!" he said thoughtfully—"I see—I see very well. Monsieur le Comte is a foolish gentleman, and Madame la Comtesse is a wise lady. Then Monsieur Urbain de la Mariniere—he is the friend of both—he visited Monsieur le General to-day."

This was a touch of curiosity, which the General did not satisfy, for he saw no good to be gained, at present, by mixing up Urbain's name in the business. He had made a good suggestion, which had failed. The General was aware that in consulting Simon he might be entering on dark ways where no gentleman would follow him. Simon's help might mean a good deal. It might mean arrests rather too near Monsieur Urbain to be pleasant. On one thing the General was resolved; by hook or by crook, by fair means or foul, Helene de Sainfoy should become his wife. With her mother on his side, he suspected that any means would in the end be forgiven. He was never likely again to have such an opportunity of marrying into the old noblesse. Personally, Helene attracted him; he had been thinking of her a good deal that day.

"Monsieur de la Mariniere—" he said rather gruffly—"Yes, he came to see me. He is of Madame de Sainfoy's opinion—he is a sensible man. No one would be more angry at your idiotic stories about his son. Now what next? I come down on the Prefect with your information, and demand the arrest of all these people, unless—hein?"

"There are objections to that plan, monsieur."

"What are they?"

"Well, to begin with, Monsieur le Prefet may not be managed so easily. He is quite capable of going to Paris and laying the whole case before the Emperor, who respects him. He might point out Monsieur Joseph de la Mariniere's close relationship with all these people who have rallied to the Empire. He might make it appear like personal spite of yours, monsieur, because Monsieur de Sainfoy had refused you his daughter. And such a course would spoil your chance in another way, monsieur. It would make all the family hate you. Even Madame la Comtesse could hardly be on your side, if you had done that. And besides, it would kill at one blow all my chances in this department. I think we must go to work more quietly, monsieur. At least, I think we must keep threats and arrests for a last resort, now that you have told me everything."

"Then you would say no more to the Prefect?"

"Not another word, monsieur. I would be silent. I would appear to accept the Prefect's decision, and Monsieur de Sainfoy's answer. But after a few days I would make some pretext for going to Paris. I am going there myself next week; I have leave to visit my old father. Then, monsieur, by spending a little money at the centre of things—well, a thunderbolt out of a clear sky is very effective, monsieur, and that is what we will try to manufacture."

Simon grinned and licked his lips.

"Then what have I paid you three thousand one hundred francs for, rascal, if the information about all this Chouannerie is to be of no use?"

"Well, of course, it is at Monsieur le General's service. It gives him a hold over Monsieur le Prefet, at any time. That was desired, I understood. All I say is, I would not use it just yet. The circumstances are delicate. When I sold the information, and dirt cheap too, I knew nothing of all the interesting romance Monsieur le General has told me. An affair of marriage wants tender handling. This one, especially, wants very clever management. If I, in Monsieur le General's place, meant to be the husband of Mademoiselle de Sainfoy, I would not begin by doing anything to make myself still more odious in the eyes of her friends and relations."

"Still more odious, fellow! What do you mean?"

"Pardon! I am only arguing from your own words, monsieur. You told me what her father said, and what Monsieur le Prefet said. One makes one's deductions, hein!"

"Ah! You had better not be impudent. I am not a person to be played with, Monsieur Simon!"

"Heaven forbid! I have the deepest respect for Monsieur le General. And now let me explain my plan a little further."

"Hold your tongue with your infernal plans, and let me think," said Ratoneau.

He got up and began pacing up and down the room with his head bent, in a most unusually thoughtful state of mind. The dark, treacherous eyes of Simon followed him as he walked. His brain was working too, much more swiftly and sharply than the General's. This little affair was going to bring him in considerably more than five thousand francs, or he would know the reason why. Presently he spoke in a low, cautious voice.

"The person to approach is Monsieur le Duc de Frioul. A direct order from His Majesty would be the quickest and most certain way of bringing the marriage about. It is not a police question, that. Monsieur le General has certainly deserved the favour, and the Emperor does not very often refuse officers in matters of this kind."

"Mille tonnerres, Simon, you talk like an ambassador," said Ratoneau, with a laugh. "Yes, I know Duroc; but there was never any love lost between us. However, I might get at him through Monge, and other people. Sapristi, Monge will have enough to do for me!" He was thinking aloud. But now he turned on his counsellor with sudden fierceness.

"And am I to leave this Chouan plot to go its own way under the Prefect's protection?" he said. "A pretty idea, that!"

"Ah! when once Monsieur le General has peacefully secured his prize, then he can do as he thinks right about public affairs," said Simon, with a sneer.

"Then I can punish my enemies, hein?" said Ratoneau.

"You can indeed, monsieur. With my information, you might very probably ruin Monsieur le Prefet, besides causing the arrest of Monsieur de la Mariniere, his nephew, Monsieur d'Ombre, and several other gentlemen whom I shall be able to point out. You could make a clean sweep of Chouannerie in Anjou, monsieur. It is very desirable. All I say is, make sure of your wife first."

Still Ratoneau walked up and down the room. With arms folded and head bent, he looked more le gros caporal than ever.

Presently he stopped short and turned to Simon.

"Get along with you, fellow, and hold your tongue," he said. "I will have nothing to do with your dirty tricks. I will settle the matter with Monsieur le Prefet."

"But me, monsieur? What will become of me?"

"What do I care! A snake in the grass, like you, can look after himself."

"But my other two thousand francs, Monsieur le General?"

"You shall have them when the affair is settled. Do you hear me? Go—or wait to be kicked. Which shall it be?"



CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH THREE WORDS CONTAIN A GOOD DEAL OF INFORMATION

It was not so easy for Angelot to make his peace with Uncle Joseph, who was more than a little angry with him.

"Yes, my boy, you were foolish, as well as ungrateful. It was a chance, it was a moment, that will not occur again. It was better that the idea should seem to come from me, not from you, and it seemed the only way to save that pretty girl from some marriage she will hate. I thought you would at least be ready to throw yourself at her feet—but you were not even that, Angelot. You refused her—you refused Mademoiselle Helene, after all you had told me—and do you know what that mother of hers has been planning for her? No? Don't look at me with such eyes; it is your own doing. Madame de Sainfoy would arrange a marriage for her with General Ratoneau, if Herve would consent. He says he will not, he says a convent would be better—"

"Ah!" Angelot gave a choked cry, and stamped violently in the sand. "Ah! Ratoneau or a convent! Dieu! Not while I live!"

"Very fine to say so now!" said Monsieur Joseph, shaking his head.

He was ready to go out shooting in the fresh morning air. His gun leaned against the bench where he was sitting, and his dog watched him with eager eyes. His delicate face was dark with melancholy disgust as he looked at the boy he loved, tramping restlessly up and down between him and the fir trees.

"You don't listen to me, Uncle Joseph; you don't understand me!" Angelot cried out passionately. "What do you take me for? It was for her sake that I answered as I did. It was because she had told me, one minute before, that her mother would kill her if she knew that she—that I—"

He sprang to the bench, threw himself down by Monsieur Joseph, flung his arm around his shoulders.

"Ah, little uncle, voyons, tell me everything. You said you would help me—"

"Help you! I am well repaid when I try to help you!" said Joseph, with a short laugh.

"But that was not the way! Come, come!" and Angelot laid his head against the little uncle's shoulder, coaxing and caressing him as he might have done ten years before, as Riette would do now.

"Ah, diable! what would you have? I offered them you in the place of Ratoneau or a convent, and you would not even wait to hear what they said. Nonsense about her mother! Mothers do not kill their children in these days. Mademoiselle is a little extravagant."

"I don't believe it. She knows her mother. I think Madame de Sainfoy would stop at nothing—no ill-treatment—to force her own way. I saw it in her face, I met her eyes when you dragged me into the room. Uncle Joseph, I tell you she hates me already, and if she thinks I am an obstacle to her plans, she will never let me see Helene again."

"Where were you, then, when I called you, good-for-nothing?"

"I was on the stairs, talking to her. Her mother had sent her out of the room—"

"On my word, you snatch your opportunities!"

"Of course! And when you were young—"

"There—no impertinence—"

"Dear uncle, I asked you days ago to talk to my father and mother. Why did you never do it? Then I might have been beforehand with that man—as to him, of course, he is an utter impossibility, and if Cousin Herve sees that, we are safe—but still—"

"Ah! there is a 'but' in the affair, I assure you. Madame would do anything for a nearer connection with her beloved Empire—and Ratoneau might be Napoleon's twin-brother, but that is a detail—and not only madame, your father is on the same side."

"My father!"

"He thinks there could not be a more sensible marriage. The daughter of the Comte de Sainfoy—a distinguished general of division; diable! what can anybody want more? So my Angelot, I was not a false prophet, it seems to me, when I felt very sure that what you asked me was hopeless. Your father would have been against you, for the sake of the Sainfoys; your mother, for opposite reasons. There was one chance, Herve himself. I saw that he was very angry at the Ratoneau proposal; I thought he might snatch at an alternative. I still think he might have done so, if you had not behaved like a maniac. It was the moment, Angelot; such moments do not return. I was striking while the iron was hot—you, you only, made my idea useless. You made me look even more mad and foolish than yourself—not that I cared for that. As to danger from her mother, why, after all, her father is the authority."

"Ah, but you are too romantic," sighed Angelot. "He would never have accepted me. He would never really oppose his wife, if her mind was set against him."

"He opposes her now. He plainly said that his daughter should marry a gentleman, therefore not Ratoneau. And where have all your fine presumptuous hopes flown to, my boy? The other day you found yourself good enough for Mademoiselle Helene."

"Perhaps I do still," Angelot said, and laughed. "But I did not then quite understand the Comtesse. I know now that she detests me. Then, too, she had not seen or thought of Ratoneau—Dieu! What profanation! Was it quite new, the terrible idea? I saw the brute—pah! We were handing the coffee—"

"Yes," said Monsieur Joseph. "As far as I know, the seed was sown, the plant grew and flowered, all in that one evening, my poor Angelot. Well—I hope all is safe now, but women are very clever, and there is your father, too—he is very clever. If it is not this marriage, it will be another—but you are not interested now; you have put yourself out of the question."

"Don't say that, Uncle Joseph—and don't imagine that your troubles are over. You will have to do a good deal more for me yet, and for Helene." He spoke slowly and dreamily, then added with a gesture of despair—"But my father—how could he! Why, the very sight of the man—"

"Ah! Very poetical, your dear father, but not very sentimental. I told him so. He said the best poetry was the highest good sense. I do not quite understand him, I confess. Allons! I am afraid I do. He is a philosopher. He also—well, well!"

"He also—what?"

"Nothing," said Monsieur Joseph, shortly. "What is to be done then, to help you?"

"I am afraid—for her sake—I must not go quite so much to Lancilly. Not for a few days, at least, till last night is forgotten. I cannot meet her before all those people, with their eyes upon me. I believe Madame de Sainfoy saw that I was lying, that I would give my life for what I seemed to refuse."

"Do you think so? No, no, she laughed and teased and questioned me with the others."

"Nevertheless, I think so. But I must know that Helene is well and safe and not tormented. Uncle Joseph, if you could go there a little oftener—you might see her sometimes—"

"How often?"

"Every two days, for instance?"

Monsieur Joseph smiled sweetly.

"No, mon petit. What should take me to Lancilly every two days? I have not much to say to Herve; his ideas are not mine, either on sport or on politics. And as to Madame Adelaide—no—we do not love each other. She is impatient of me—I distrust her. She has Urbain, and one in the family is enough, I think. Voyons! Would your Mademoiselle Moineau do any harm to Riette?"