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jd -APPL I ED IM/JGE I

ST'- '653 East Main Street

S^S Rochester, New York 14609 USA

'^^ (716) 482 - OJOO - Phone

^~ (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax

"MONSIEUR LE G^N^RAL, VOU HA/E KILLED HIM!"

A N GE LOT

A Story of the First Empi
By

ELEANOR C. PR[CE

^2f ;ii«3K..

CONTENTS

CRAPTK*
I.

II.
III.
IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.
X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.
XVI.

XVII.

FAGB

In the Depths of Old France . . . • i

How the Owls hooted in the Daytime . . I3

" Je suis le G^n^ral Bim-Bam-Boum ! " . • 26
How the Breakfast cooked for Those was

eaten by These 4^

How Angelot made an Enemy . . • 59
How La Belle H^l^ne took an Evening Walk 78
The Sleep of Mademoiselle Moineau . . 95
How Monsieur Joseph met with Many Annoy-
ances . "*

How Common Sense fought and triumphed . 129
How Angelot refused what had not been

offered ^47

How Monsieur Urbain smoked a Cigar . . 160

How the Prefect's Dog snapped at the General 173
How Monsieur Simon showed himself a little

too Clever '^7

In which Three Words contain a Good Deal

of Information 2°^

How Henriette read History to Some Purpose 223
How Angelot played the Fart of an Owl in an

Ivy-bush 242

How Two Soldiers came Home from Spain . 266
iii

CONTENTS

CMAprmii PACE
XVIII. How Captain Georges paid a Visit of Cere-
mony 285

XIX. The Treading of the Grapes . . . 299

XX. How Angelot climbed a Tree . . . 309
XXI. How Monsieur Joseph found himself Master

of the Situation 324

XXII. The Lighted Windows of Lancilly . . 340

XXIII. A Dance with General Ratoneau . . . 353

XXIV. How Monsieur de Sainfoy found a Way Out 369
XXV. How the Curd acted against his Conscience . 385

XXVI. How Angelot kept his Tryst ... 398
XXVII. How Monsieur Joseph went out into the

Dawn . , 416

XXVIII. How General Ratoneau met his Match . 437

XXIX. The Disappointment of Monsieur Urbain . 456

ANGELOT
a 5tor2 of tfif Jfixst Empire

CHAPTER I

IN THE DEPTHS OF OLD FRANCE

" Drink, Monsieur Angelot," said the farmer
His wife had brought a bottle of the soarkling
white wine of the country, and two tall old treas-
ures of cut glass. The wine slipped out in a
merry foam. Angelot lifted his glass with a
smile and bow to the mistress.

"The best wine in the country," he said as he
set It down.

The hard lines of her face, so dark, so worn
with perpetual grief and M*], softened suddenly
as she looked at him, ar/ e farmer from his
solemn height broke into a uugh.

" Martin's wine," he said. " That was before
they took him, the last boy. But it is still rather
new, Monsieur Angelot. though you are so
amiable. Ah, but it is the last good wine I shall
ever have here at La Joubardiere. I am growing

ANGELOT

old — see my white hair — I cannot work or
make other men work as the boys did. Our vin-
tage used to be one of the sights of the country —
I needn't tell you, for you know — but now the
vines don't get half the care and labour they did
ten years ago; and they feel it, like children,
they feel it. Still, there they emain, and give ms
what fruit they can — but the real children, Mon-
sieur Angelot, thei. life-blood runs to waste in
far-away lands. It does not enrich France. Ah,
the vines of Spain will grow the better for it, per-
haps — "

"Hush, hush, master!" muttered the wife,
for the old man was not laughing now; his last
words were half a sob. and tears ran suddenly
down. " I tell you always," she said, " Martin
will come back. The good God cannot let our five
boys die, one after the other. Madame your
mother thinks so too," she said, nodding at
Angelot. " I spoke to her very plainly. I said,
'They cannot be unjust — and surely, to take all
the five children of a poor little farmer, and to
leave not one, not even the youngest, to do the
work oi ihe farm — come, what sort of -.;suce is
that!' And she said: 'Listen, maitresse: the
good God will bring your Martin back to you
He cannot be unjust, as you say. If my Angelot
had to go to the war — and I always fear it — I
should expect him back as surely as I expect my
husband back from Lancilly at this moment ' "
Angelot smiled at her. " Yes, yes, Martin will

IN THE DEPTHS OF FRANCE, 3

come back," he said Ri,f i,^ u

would not have said .r. , P'^'I^^opher,

oppressive, was ^; J ^^I^', ^ n^C^Fra:"^
under her briUiant leader fi "'^'^'"ST i^ ranee,

magnificent nation the wo i^^H'^^'f^'.^'"''
waved the tricoln„r h.f , ^ """''' ^ave
have counted over Lk ;'•'"'' "" ^^^'^^ ™"W

.one ho^e , happened l^l": J™'- 1?

and Napo/eon t to lalV" ''\^'^"'"°^''

fai^ in Madame and ..Julrff Go^ ^"^"'

braiThlSrrth'e^r ^^T ^°°^-^^'^' '^'' »
'he gn^y darkness on :■ ^an 1^' ™' '™"
da3^ling sunshine of that Sel '" '"'° '"'
The old vvhif, t September morning,

it. -na: 's r.:ra'.r:^«""^ ^■^'■^ =">-'

loolced fairly pro pZ4 „ .r''''^^''?" '"? ago,

fresh «3rl,; ■: P^™"^ '" "s untidiness. The

staclcs of corn were golden still; poultry

ANGELOT

made a great clatter, a flock of geese on their way
out charging at the two men -'s they left the
house. An old peasant was hammering at barrels,
in preparation for the vintage; a wild girl with
a stick and a savage-looking brindled dog was
starting off :.o fetch the cows in from theii morn-
ing graze.

All the place was bathed in crystal air and
golden light, fresh and life-giving. It stood high
on the edge of the moors, the ground falling away
to the south aiid east into a wild yet fertile valley ;
vineyards, cornfields ot long reaped, small
woods, deep and narrow lanes, then tall hedges
studded with trees, green rich meadows by the
streams far below. On the slope, a mile or two
away, there was a church spire with a few grey
roofs near it, and the larger roofs, half-hidden by
trees, of the old manor of La Mariniere, Angelot's
home. On the opposite slope of the valley, rising
from the stream, another spire, another and larger
village; and above it, commanding the whole
country side, with great towers and shining roofs,
solid lengths of wall gleaming in newly restored
whiteness, lines of windows still gold in the morn-
ing sun, stood the old chateau of Lancilly, backed
by the dark screen of forest that came up close
about it and in old days had surrounded it alto-
gether. Twenty years of emptiness; twenty
years, first of revolution and emigration, then of
efforts to restore an old family, which the power-
ful aid of a faithful cousin and friend had made

IN THE DEPTHS OF FRANCE 5

successful; and now the Comte do Sainfoy and
his family were at last able to live again at Lan-
cilly m their old position, though there was much
yet to be done by way of restoration and buy-
ing back lost bits of property. But all this could
not be in better hands than those of Urbain de
la Alarm.ere, the cousin, the friend, somewhat
despised among the old splendours of a former
regime, and thought the less of because of the
opinions which kept him -safe and sound on
French soil all through the Revolution, enabling
h.m both to save Lancilly for iis rightful owners
and to Keep a place in the old and loved ccnmcry
for his own elder brother Joseph, a far more con-
iustent Royalist than Herve de Sainfoy with all his
grand traditions. For the favour of the Emperor
had been made one great step to the restoration of
these noble emigrants. Therefore in this sn .11
square of Angevin earth there were great divi-
sions of opinion : but Monsieur Urbain. the un-
prejudiced, the lover of both liberty and of glory
and of poetry and philosophy beyond either, who
had passed on with France herself from the Com-
mitter of Public Safety to the Directory, and then
into the arms of First Consul and Emperor-
Monsieur Urbain. the cousin, the brother, whose
wite was an ardent Royalist and devout Cat! olic
whose young son was the favourite companion of
his uncle Joseph, a more than suspected Chouan
--Monsieur Urbain, Angelot's father, was every-
body s friend, everybody's protector, everybody's

m-m

ANGELOT

adviser, a/id the one peacemaker among them all.
And naturally, in such a case. Monsieur Urbain's
hardest task was the management of his own
wife — but of this more hereafter.

" Your father's work, Monsieur Angelot," said
old Joubani, pointing across the valley to Lan-
cilly, there in the blaze of the sun.

Angelot lifted his sleepy eyelids, his long lashes
like a girl's, and the glance that shot from be-
neath them was halfcarelesj. half uneasy.

" We have done without them pretty well for
twenty years," the farmer went on, " but I sup-
pose we must be glad to see them back. Is it true
that they are coming to-day ? "
" I believe so."

" Your uncle Joseph won't be glad to s^e them.
The Emperor's people : they may disturb certain
quiet little games at Les Chouettes."

" That is my uncle's affair, Maitre Joubard."
" I know. Well, a still tongue is best for me.
Monsieur Urbain is i good landlord — and I've
paid for my place in the Empire, dame, yes, five
times over. Yet, if I could choose my flag at this
time of day, I should not care for a variety of
colours. Mind you, your father is a wise man
and knows best, I dare say. I am only a poor
peasant. But taking men and their opinions all
round. Monsieur Angelot, and though some who
think themselves wise call him a fool, — with re-
spect I say it, — your dear little uncle is the man
for me. Yes — I would back Monsieur Joseph

IN THE DEPTHS OF FRANCE 7

against all his brother's wisdom and his cousin's
fine a.rs and 1 an> sorry these Sain^ov people arc
coni.ng back to trouble him and to spoil his pretty
I'ttle plots, which do n.. harm to any one "

Angelot laughed outright. "My uncle would
not care to hear that," he said.

"Nevertheless. y,H. may tell him old Joubard

Ihmks he same, or he would not let you live half
your life at Les Chouettes."

" He has other things to think of "

recko?w!tl''^^^~"'''''^'^"^^''"^"-^^-^°

a Jin^'" ' W T'^'''''" ^^'^ Angelot. laughing
again. VVeh. I must go, for my uncle is ex-
pectmg me to breakfast."

"Ah! and he has other guests. I saw them
nding over from the south, half an hour ago "

you have a watch-tower here. You com-
mand the country."

n..n'^"" Z"^'' f ^^' '"' ^ ^^'''^'' ''S^''' ^^'d the old
man. Good-day, dear boy. Give my duty to
Monsieur Joseph." ^

Angelot started lightly on his way over the
rough moorland road. The high ridge of table-
land extended far to the north; the landcs, pur-
pie and gold with the low heather and furze which
w3 ^'^^";'."-'-'tered-by any tree, except
where crossed in even lines by pollard oaks of im-
mense age, their great round heads so thick with
leaves that a man might well hide in them. These

» 1

ANGELOT

truisscs. ait tvtry few years, were the peasants'
store of firewood. Their long prcjcessions gave
a curious look of human life to the lonely moor,
only inhabited by game, of which Angelot saw
plenty. But he did not shoot, his game-bag being
already stuffed with birds, but marched along
with gun on shoulder and dog at heel over the
yellow sandy track, loudly whistling a country
tune. There was not a lighter heart than Ange-
lot's in all his native province, nor a handsomer
face. He only wanted height to be a splendid
fellow. His daring mouth and chin seemed to
contradict the lazy softness of his dark eyes.
With a clear, brown skin and straight figure, and
dressed in brown linen and heavy shooting boots,
he was the picture of a healthy sportsman.

A walk of a mile or two across the landes
brought him into a green lane with tall wild
hedges, full of enormous blackberries, behind
which were the vineyards, rather weedy as to soil,
but loaded with the small black and white grapes
which made the good pure wine of the country.

A'^gelot turned in and looked at the grapes and
ate a few ; this was one of his father's vineyards.
The yellow grapes tasted of sunshine and the
south. Angelot went on eating them all the way
down the lane; he was thirsty, in spite of Jou-
bard's sparkling wine, after tramping with dog
and gun since six o'clock in the morning. The
green lane led to another, very steep, rough, and
stot y. Corners of red and white rock stood out

w.mm'^s^^

IN THE DEPTHS OF FRA.VCE 9

in it; such a surface would have jr>he(l a strong
cart to pieces, but Les Chouettes had no Ijetter
approach on this side.

" I want no fine ladies to visit me." M.msieur
Joseph would say. with his sweet smile. *' My
friends will travel over any road."

Down plungr ' the lane, with a thick low w<km1
on one side ana a sloping stuf)l,le field edged by
woods on the other; here again st(H)d a row of
old pollard oaks, like giant guards of the solitude.
Then the deep barking ..f many dogs. Monsieur
Joseph's real protectors, and a group of Spanish
chestnuts sending their branches over the road,
announced the strange hermitage that its master
called by the fanciful name of Les Chouettes.
There had indeed been a time, not long before
when owls had been its chief inhabitants. Now'
if report was to be believed, night-birds of a dif-
ferent species were apt to congregate there.

The lane opened suddenly on Monsieur Joseph's
out-buildi^^s, with no gates or barriers, things
unKnown in Anjou. Tall oaks and birches, deli-
cate and grey, leaned across the cream-coloured
walls and the high grey stone roofs where orange
moss grew thickly. Low arched doorways with
a sandy court between them led into the kitchen
on one side, the stables on the other. Beyond
these again, in the broad still sunshine, standing
squarely alone in a broad space of yellow sand
was Monsieur Joseph's house, not very old. for
the kitchens and stables had belonged to a little

ANGELOT

chateau long since pulled down. It also was built
of cream-coloured st(jne, with a little tower to the
west of it, with playful ironwork and high man-
sard windows. An odd feature was that it had
no actual d^ r. All the lower windows opened
down to the ground, with nothing but a stone step
between them and the sandy soil, so that the house
could be entered or left at any pc-nt, through any
room.

Two rough roads or country tracks, continuing
the lane, passed the house to the north and south,
the northern road wandering away westward
under a wild avenue of old oaks on the edge of a
wood into high fields beyond, the southern cross-
ing broad green slopes that descended gradually
into the valley towards Lancilly, past low copses
and brimming streams, leaving to the east the
high moors and La Alariniere with its small vil-
lage and spire.

Thus Les Chouettes had a view of its own to
the west and south, but could be seen far off from
the south only, woods covering the upper slope
against the sunset. Woods and high land shel-
tered it again from the north and east, and the
only roads near it were little better than cart-
tracks.

There were long hours at Les Chouettes when
no sound was to be heard but the hooting of owls
or screaming of curlews or the odd little squeak
of the squirrels as they darted up and down and
about the oak trees.

IN THE DEPTHS OF FRANCE ii

" He mews like a cat, the little fouqiiet." Mon-
sieur Joseph used to say; and passionate sports-
man as he was, he would never shoot the squirrels
or allow them to be shot by his man, who la-
mented loudly. Angelot had caught his uncle's
hk-ing for that swift red spirit of the woods, and
so the squirrpls had a fine time all over the lands
of La Mariniere.

Evidently there was a good deal going on at
Les Chouettes, when Angelot came down from
the moors that morning. He was not surprised
after old Joubard's report, to see his uncle's out-
door factotum, a bullet-headed creature with
scarcely anything on but his shirt, leading the last
of several horses into the shadowy depths of the
stable. Opposite, the cook looked out smiling
from the kitchen, where she lived with her solemn
husband, the valet-de-chambre. He, in apron and
sabots, was now in the act of carrying the first
dishes across to the dining-room window.

"Just in time. Monsieur Angelot!" cried the
cook.

Four large black dogs came barking and leap-
ing to meet the young man and his dog, an inti-
mate friend of theirs. Then a small slender fig-
ure, with a cropped head and a clinging dark blue
frock, flashed across from the wood, ordered the
dogs back in a voice that they obeyed, and cling-
ing to Angelot's arm, led him on towards the
corner of the house.

"Ah, my Ange! I began to think you were

la^nffit-k *w^:iK'«i«a.*o&«i^'»»:LA'3(»^^^fi*=><*

ANGELOT

not coming," she said. " There are four of them
in the salon with papa, and I was afraid to go in
till you came."

" What ! Mademoiselle Riette afraid of any-
thing on earth — and especially of four old gen-
tlemen!"

" They are not very old, and they look so fierce
and secret this morning. But come, come, you
must put down your game-bag and wash your
hands, and then we will go in together."

CHAPTER II

HOW THE OWLS HOOTED IN THE DAYTIME

The sun poured into the little salon, all pol-
ished wood and gay-coloured chintz, where Mon-
sieur Joseph de la Mariniere and his four friends
were talking at the top of their voices.

The four guests sat in more or less tired atti-
tudes round the room; the host stood poised on

!u T'n:'"^' ^ '^^'^' ^^"^y ^'"'e gentleman
With a bnlhant smile. He had a way of balancing
himself on one foot and slightly extending both
arms, as if he were going to fly ofif into space.
This and his gentle, attractive manner, sometimes
touched with melancholy, gave him a sort of an-
gelic, spiritual air. It was difficult to imagine
him cither a soldier or a conspirator, yet he had
been one and was still the other. More than
once only a politic indulgence not often extended
by Napoleon's administrators, and the distin-
guished merits of his younger brother, had saved
Monsieur Joseph from sharing the fate of some
of his friends at Joux, Ham, or Vincennes

These fortress prisons held even now many men
of good family whom only the Restoration was to
set free. They, as well as plenty of inferior pris-
ma

ANGELOT

oners, owed their captivity in most cases to a se-
cret meeting betrayed, a store of arms discovered,
a discontented letter opened, or even to an expres-
sion of opinion, such as that France had been bet-
ter off under the Bourbons. Napoleon kept
France down with an iron hand, while the young
men and lads in hundreds of thousands shed their
blood for him, the women wept, and the old men
sometimes raged : but yet France as a whole
submitted. The memory of the Terror made this
milder tyranny bearable. And genius commands,
as long as it is victorious, and till this year of the
Spanish war, there had been no -'^eck to Napo-
'eon. He had not yet set out to extinguish the
flame of his glory in Russian snows.

The police all over France obeyed his orders
only too well — " Surveilles tout le monde, ex-
cepte moi! " To a great degree it was necessary,
for French society, high and low, was honey-
combed with Royalist plots, some of them hardly
worthy of a cause which called itself religious
as well as royal. Leaders like Cadoudal and
Frotte were long dead ; some of their successors
in conspiracy were heroes rather of scandal than
of loyalty, and many a tragic legend lingers in
French society concerning the men and women of
those days.

To a great extent, the old families of La
Vendee, the La Rochejacqueleins at their head,
refrained from mixing themselves up in the
smaller plots against the Empire in which hun-

'm^w^m^^Ks^ismjiiwmirmmmJmmik

HOW THE OWLS HOOTED

dreds of Chouans, noble and peasant, men and
women, were constantly involved during these
years with probable loss of life and liberty. It was
not till later that the general feeling became inten-
sified so that Napoleon had to weaken his army, in
the Waterloo campaign, by sending some thou-
sands of men against a new insurrection in the
West, under Louis de la Rochejaquelein, a second
La Vendee war, only stopped by the final return
of the Bourbons.

Monsieur Joseph's gay little room looked like
anything but a haunt of conspirators; but his
friends were earnestly discussing with him the
possibility of raising the country, arming the
peasants, marching on the chief to\ -^ t^- de-
partment, capturing the Prefect, as wen -, the
General in command of the division, and holding
them as hostages while the insurrection went on
spreading through Anjou and the neighbouring
provinces.

The most eager, the most original of the plot-
ters was the Baron d'Ombre, a dark, square young
man with frowning brows. He turned quite
fiercely on a milder-looking person, a Monsieur de
Bourmont, a distant cousin of the well-known
leader of that name, who doubted whether
the peasants would rise as readily as Cesar
d'Ombre expected.

" I tell you," he said, " they hate, they detest
the Empire. Look at their desolate homes, their
deserted fields! I tell you, the women of France

ANGELOT

alone, if they had a leader, would drive the
usurper out of the country."

" There is your mission, then, dear Cesar," said
the Vicomte des Barres, a delicate, sarcastic-look-
ing man of middle age. " March on Paris with
your phalanx of Amazons."

" Cesar is right, nevertheless, gentlemen,"
growled the Comte d'Ombre, the young man's
father, the oldest of the party. " It is energy, it
is courage, that our cause wants. And I go far-
ther than my son goes. Take the Prefect and the
General by all means — excellent idea — "

" If you can catch them — " murmured Mon-
sieur des Barres, and was frowned upon furiously
by Cesar d'Ombre.

The Comte was rather deaf. "What?
What?" he asked sharply, being aware of the
interruption.

"Nothing, monsieur, nothing!" cried their
host, with one spring from the fireplace to the old
man's chair — " and what would you do, mon-
sieur, with the Prefect and the General? I am
dying of curiosity."

Monsieur d'Ombre stared up into the sweet,
birdlike face, which bent over him with flashing
eyes and a delighted smile.

"Do? I should shoot them on the spot," he
said. " They are traitors : I would treat all
traitors the same. Yes, I know the Prefect is a
friend of your brother's — of your own, possibly.
I know my son and I are your guests, too. Never

HOW THE OWLS HOOTED 17

mind! Any other conduct would be cowardly
and abominable. No member of my family would
ever be guilty of opportunism, and remain in my
family. Those two men have done more harm in
this province than Napoleon Buonaparte and all
his laws and police. They never tried to make his
government popular. The Prefect, at least, has
done this — I know nothing about the General "
A wooden image of his master," said Mon-
sieur des Barres.

Monsieur Joseph returned, rathe'- sobered, to
his hearth rug. " Shoot them, well, well ! " he
muttered. " A strong measure, but possibly pol-
itic. It ,s what one would like to do, of course,
officially. Not personally -no -though Mon-
sieur d Ombre may be right. It is a crime, no
doubt, to make the Empire popular. I am afraid
my poor brother has tried to do the same, and suc-
ceeded — yes, succeeded a little."

" My father is quite wrong," Cesar d'Ombre
muttered in the ear of Monsieur de Bourmont
who listened with a superior smile. " Such mad '
violence would ruin the cause altogether. Now as
hostages, those two men would be invaluable."

" Time enough to discuss that when you have
got them," said Monsieur de Bourmont. "To
me, I must confess, this plan of a rising sounds
premature and unpractical. What we want first is
money -money from England, and stronger
support, too — as well as a healthier public opin-
ion all through this part of the country "

W'fj^i^Tm'^aifsm^sMiiL'r^m^Tf^'^imamsmBi

P4?r^ , ■;

ANGELOT

" Ah ! but none of 30ur waiting games for
me," cried the young Baron. " ' De I'audace ' —
you know — that is the mctto for Frenchmen."

" Boldness and rashness need not be the same
thing," said Monsieur de Bourmont, drily.
" And remember whom you are quoting, my dear
Cesar. A dangerous person, to say the least."

A grim smile lightened d'Ombre's hard face.
" It was the right thing to say, if the devil said
it," he answered.

The Vicomte des Barres rose from his chair
and lounged into the middle of the room.

" To be practical, friends," he said, " the feel-
ing among the peasants is the question. In this
country side, Monsieur de la Mariniere ought to
know pretty well what it is. And I fear he will
tell us that a £ood deal of exertion will be neces-
sary, before they will take up their guns and pikes,
and march where they are led. It goes without
saying that he, himself, is the one man to lead
them. I believe, though he chooses to live like a
hermit, he is the most popular man in Anjou."

" But no — no, dear Vicomte," said Monsieur
Joseph, shaking his head violently. " It is true
there are some of them who love me — but their
interest, you see, is on the other side. My brother
is more popular than I am, and he deserv^es it, in
spite of his lamentable opinions."

'* Ah, monsieur, forgive me, but do you under-
stand your peasants?" cried Cesar d'Ombre.
" Are you doing them justice ? Would they set a

iiii:«'#*ff«'i«:*!«'-^r^

;5^'

HOW THE OWLS HOOTED .9
good farm against their king, their reheion ih,
.a vat,„n of their c...,ryf\,^ai„,t2

mo,evU '°"7""' "''^ """^ »-e o
money and corn-stacks and vintages than „f .1.

.rue peace and freedon, which can ™, W >™n bv

dnvtng „u, tyranny? Nobody wants to pu, hem

a^:Von: -\7 >r7 '^^^ '^^--'"'-

g ic we nave given up our rights and
there IS an end of if k.,* "fe"i». ana

again, and we w ~ « for T"' °" T" "'"«'

breathe and .0 let Lrw:,„;taT%Ve """ '"
be rid r^f fu- >vvjuiius neai. \Ve want to

h^r'iffe; ood^ TuT: T''' :"' " '"'"'"^
fee] most ^',h ^'^ " "'''" "'^ P^^^^nts

t"v are If • " '"■""S'y '' "' do. But

t.'ey are of course uneducated. They need stir

nng uj. drilling, leading. And I can\ard1y b"
he otir I'T^' '"" "" ^"^^^ °f ™e ma'n f„

ingu led b n;:'''" °' ^™^ '^"™'' ™<1 dis-
■ npislied brother — would outweigh all ,1,.

Claims o faith and affection and loyTy Li'

am:^%:^"''^'----'- Trust Vp:as-

" You may be right — I hope vou are " „-^
Mons,e„. Joseph, more gravely' th» usua^ " B^
r^, brother will not now be alone in the left-hand

And no., with Herv.i%^:,oX;tr!!^-

father r " ^'"' '''°"'^^'' « ^°^" ^^om his
father, a gnmace of disgust from Monsieur de
Bourmont, who had reason for hi.

-^"' ^or ins own cousin,

ANGEI.OT

once a Chouan, was now an Imperial officer — a
laugh from Monsieur des Barres ; all this greeted
the name of the owner of Lancilly.

" Although that renegade is your cousin, mon-
sieur," old d'Ombre growled, " I hope the country
side may soon be made too hot to hold him."

Monsieur Joseph chrugged his sl.oulders,
smiled, looked on the floor. He did not take up
the old m^n's words ; he could not very well have
done so. But there was something about him
which reminded his guests that the slender little
boyish man was a dead shot and a perfect swords-
man, and that once, long ago, in old La Vendee
days, he had challenged a man who had said
something insulting of his brother Urbain, and
after one or two swift passes had laid him dead at
his feet.

There was a moment of rather awkward si-
lence. Then Monsieur des barres took up the
word again.

" To be practical, my friends " he repeated,
" the first step to action, it seems to me, is to
sound and encourage the peasants. Each of us
must be responsible for his own neighbourhood."

" We will answer for ours," said Cesar d'Om-
bre.

Monsieur de Bourmont, the most cautious of
the party, murmured something to the same ef-
fect, and Monsieur Joseph nodded gravely.

The Vicomte's eyes dwelt on him, a little
anxiously. It seemed as if that word " renegade,"

^^^;^^«au

HOW THE OWLS HOOTED a,

appried to his cousin and neighbonr, might have
a endency to s„ck in his .hroat. Des Barres, who
adm,red and love,! the Ht.le gentleman, was .«,rry
He wanted to remind him how the old Contie
d Ombre was universally known for bad man-
liked .IT '• '"'! r'"^'- "' »™"' '-«

.ked to reason w,th him, too. on the subject of
hatcousm, and to poim ou- kindly, as a
fnend how Monsieur de Sainfoy had had al^
olu ely no real and goo<l excuse for going over
to the Emperor. Nothing but ambition and
world,ness could have led him into the course h
had taken. Urbain de la Mariniere, known
even before ,,^ as a philosophical Republican
hont: :Z """-' "'- '" "" -i-"on of

rr.lJ^T l"""" "" '^' la„dcs"-sM the Vi-
comte lookmg at his host -"a good example

■ear IT," "u-"""'' " "^ ™'- ^e passed
he Uke?" "'°™'"«- W"^' «™ does

"Joubard? He is a fine old fellow, that. His
fifth son was taken by the conscription a yea
ago. Four are dead. I think his heart is in the
nght p ace. Bt« he is my brother's best tenant

I„H~/ff . ^"°"'- ^^ J°"''='"' i^ "lade of
good stuff, and he loves me."

J,^"^, "'■.?''?''' '" '°™' ^'" ^"'- and their
mother loved them too," said Cesar d'Ombre

Tn K f i^'' "^ children," .said Mon.,ieur
Joseph, lookmg out of the window. " Breakfast

ANGELOT

will l)e ready immediately. With your leave we
will finish our discussion afterwards."

All the faces lightened, except that of the Baron
d'Ombre, whose soul was too much in earnest
to be glad of a bodily interruption. But the
ride had been long, over difficult roads and un-
der a hot sun, and breakfast was later than u lal.
The three elder conspirators were not sorry to
lay aside their plotting for an hour, and they
knew by experience that Monsieur Joseph's cook
was an artist. On an occasion such as this, dishes
of the rarest distinction crossed the sandy court
from that quaint high- roofed kitchen.

The children, as Monsieur Joseph called them,
came to the glass door and opened it gently.
They were Angelot and Henriette, first cousins,
and alike enough to be brother and sister, in
spite of the ten years between them.

The girl, w'tb ^t fearless eyes, walked first ; it
seemed natural to her. All the men rose and
bowed as she came in. She made a formal curt-
sey to each one separately, and smiled when Mon-
sieur des Barres, the man of the world, bent
gracefully to kiss her hand as if she had been a
grown-up woman.

" Good morning, my dear uncle," said Angelot,
and kissed Monsieur Joseph on both cheeks ; then
bowed deeply to the company.

They looked upon him with not altogether
friendly eyes ; the Comte d'Ombre even muttered
something between his teeth, and hardly returned

,t»i''ir>^'^r

HOW THE OWLS HOOTED 23

the young fellow's snlutuion. The son of Ur-
ham c e la Marinic-re. a notorious example of
wo ochous tlnn^s. republicanism and opportun-

-m!tl.n„uual affection of him and hTun^
Joseph only made him more of a ,>ossible dang
To Mons.eur d Ombre Angelot seemed like a
spy m the camp. His son. however, knew bet-
er. and so did the other two. Angelot's parent-

Tolh • T ' '^'^'^ °"^- ^^"^' Monsieur
Josephs judgment, though romantic, was sel-
dom wrong. '

Gigot, the dark-faced valet, having kicked off
^he saints which covered his felt shL. b^ sUH
wear.ng h,s large apron, set open the door into
the long narrow hall which ran through the back
of the house, widening in the middle where the
tower and staircase branched from it.

" Monsieur est servi ! "

The hungry guests marched willingly to the
dmmg room, their heavy boots creaking^ t'he noise

"You do not join us, mademoiselle?" said

gered behmd in the drawing-room.

"No monsieur," the child answered, " Mv
father thinks I am too young to listen. Besides
I am the guctteuse. It is our business to watch
— the dogs and I."

:::i3^uMy

•.?";'v'<^i^

ANGELOT

" Indeed ! Is that how you spend your life? A
curious employment for a young lady ! "

" When there is danger abroad, I am more to
be trusted than any one else."

" I quite believe it. You know, then, that our
visit to-day is not entirely one of pleasure?
Monsieur your father has taken you so far into
his confidence, though you are too young to lis-
ten?"

" I know everything, monsieur," said Hen-
riette.

" Then we may eat in peace. We are safe in
your care. That is charming, mademoiselle."

" Yes, monsieur. I will let you know at once,
if Monsieur le Prefet and his gendarmes are rid-
ing down the lane."

" Good heavens, what an idea ! I have not the
smallest wish to meet Monsieur le Prefet. I be-
lieve that gentleman keeps a black book, in which
I am quite sure my name is written. Yes in-
deed, mademoiselle, if he should happen to pass,
send him a little farther. Tell him he will find a
nest of Chouans at Vaujour, or anywhere else
your fancy suggests."

Henriette laughed and nodded. " Trust me,
monsieur," she said.

"Your little >.jusin is charming," said Mon-
sieur des Barres to Angelot, who was politely
waiting for him in the hall.

The six men were soon sitting at Monsieur
Joseph's hospitable round table. As they dis-

w^.

HOW THE OWLS HOOTED 25

patched their plates of steaming soup they saw the
sl.m blue figure of Henriet.e, with two dogs at er
heels, fl„ past the win<iow in tne direction of the
^teep lane down which Angelot had come no'

; J T ^^°''- ^"'^ '^"' I'O n°' only to "he
landcs, but by other lanes to one of the rare high
roads of .he country, and on to the chief tow' ff
U^e department. I, was partly for this reason that
Monsieur Joseph, who vah,ed privacy and inde

rc^red%:ar"' *^ ^°"^^ -^ ^ •-- '^»

A large dish of eggs followed the soup. But
all Ihe d "I ^""'^ '"' """ '^^'P^'' when
agely. And then, out of the shadow of the
^ood dartmg down past the back of the kitchen

do;""atVr '''"' '° "'^ "'"'"S--" wi-
dow, almost upsettmg Gigot and his dish as she

sprang over the step.

lan'e^Thir"^' '^Zl '' ^ P='"'' "'^'"S down the
lane I beheve .t ,s Monsieur le Prefet and an of-
ficer w.th him, and three servants. I ran up the
wood. They had only Just turned into the Ce

horse^L^^lik:":"^ '°'"' '"' ^'°"'^'- '^^'^

oatra"nd7 /?""' ""P"" °'" ' '^«"»<i0"»
:ere a studt ^' '" ^"'^' """^^ '^«=

"No?;/''''" '"'' "'' General!" he said.
Wow IS your moment, gentlemen! "

BE^^P^-^'Ka^lSiS^iris!

CHA^ "ER III

" JE SUIS LE GENERAL BIM-BAM-BOUM ! "

All the men rose to their feet, except the elder
d'Ombre, who had taken a very long draught of
his host's good wine, and now stared stupidly
at the others. Cesar d'Ombre's eyes flamed with
excitement. He seized the arm of Angelot, who
was next to him. in such a grip that the young
fellow flinched and frowned.

" It is our moment ! " he cried. " Six to two "
— then savagely, and tightening his grasp —
■' unless we are betrayed — "

" What do you mean, sir? " cried Angelot, his
uncle, and Monsieur de Bourmont, all in a
breath.

Monsieur des Barres laughed as he looked at
Henriette.

" The idea is absurd," he said — " and yet,"
in a lower tone — " mademoiselle has proved
herself an amazingly true prophetess. However,
it is absurd — "

There was a moment or two of uproar. An-
gelot, having impatiently shaken off the Baron's
hand, was demanding that he should withdraw
his words. He, having apparently at once for-

mTi^^r^m^mmm.

"LEGfeNfeRALBIM-BAM-BOUM!" 37

•nust never leave "bm T " ^' ^"™«'='-
Government wouM e'n ,a .rr"',.'"" '"'
the insurrection would ca.rlVfl"''''''' ""<"
in dry grass - ""'' """« '"<« » ««

summer foo er/'^l""f,-- ' Mere „id-
farand ! " ^ '"<'' yourself, fire-

Shoot them on the <;nnt 1 ii^u
tolc ? " >» P™ • vVhere are mv nJc

toisr stammered th^ ^m t- . ^ "v P'S-

understand the slLtiL ""'' "^^""'"^ '°

sid«°trrie:;i"'".'-^''^<'«"''-e held his
scornful X" ^Me '" °™ " '"° '"^^ '"<'
Whisked glassy Lnd^at^s'fnd d"f "" °"'''''
board, pushed back cha r. « t' '"•" => <^"P-

='way every si™ „f l ^1'"'' *' «">"■ "^k

In the m dstTall th T" "'=" J"^' ^^P-n.

said , f. / " '='^"='' Monsieur Toseoh

said a few words with eawr n„,i "'^. Joseph

Monsieur de Bo„r™„ . ? , ' ""'^ *'8"s «»

old man by eafh " m led V ','"^'.'™' '^"'"^ "-e

the west side of^'housr ^"^"^ °- '°-ds

h.-s"ne;'hX! wh^rs'li'st"'' '"""'"' ^"^^ '»
Cesar 'd'Omb*': Zi'^r^ '' " '-''-"<' '°

He'tL:^d;™Lr:s7;L^"^^'°' ■^^-'-'^

loot, as If he meant to be obeyed.

w^mmm^^^r,^

ANGELOT

Angelot had never seen him in such a state of
ar xiety and excitement, or heard such words as
r.is sincerely pious mouth had let fall two minutes
before — in Riette's presence, too ! Old Joubard
was wrong: these plots were not exactly to be
laughed at. Angelot, realising that the Prefect
and* the General were really in danger of their
lives from men like the Messieurs d'Ombre,
thought rather seriously of his own father. At
the same time, he longed to punish Cesar for
what he had dared to say about betrayal. Yes,
he was his father's son; and so the sight of
him was enough to make these wild Chouans
suspect far better Royalists than themselves.
There was an account to settle with Monsieur
des Barres, too. His polite manners were
all very well, but his words to Henriette just
now were insulting. Angelot was angry with
his uncle's guests, and not particularly inclined
to help them out of their present predicament.
He stood gloomily, without actempting to obey
his uncle, till Henriette came up to him sud-
denly.

•'Ange — the horses into the hiding-place!

Do you hear — quick, quick ! "

It might be possible to hesitate in obeying
Uncle Joseph, but Cousin Henriette was a far
more autocratic person. And then her good sense
never failed, and was always convincing; she
was never in doubt as to her own right course
or ether people's : and Angelot, who had no sis-

"msmmmww^Si^-

\wmm

" LE GfeNfeRAL BIM-BAM-BOUM f " 29

She had hardly spoken when he was out of the
wando a„, ,,,h a few strides across te!
sliine had disap,,eared into the dark anrl .1
ernous archway of the stables ' '"'■

Henriette turned to the t^^o remaining guests

" F°"o>v me; gentlemen," said the child " I

know u-^ere my papa i. „ai.n,g f„. ,::^ '

Mademo.selle. we are in vour han<k " said

the V,con„e, bowing. "We have neve for an

mstant lost conildenc-, in you "

She bent her head, with the air and smile nf ,
woman who rather scornfully accep.r n^oll
hal 7:1 °"' °' f *ni„g.room'and a , ^^e

^wTnhis Lf^^ ^' ''^ ''-''' -" «-""ed be-
At that very moment the Prefect of the denart
ma"d Tf'th ? "^"^ ''^'"'^ Genera, inc'ot
oy three men ,n the dress of gendarmes rode
slow y and gently round the bacK of the kitchen
.nto the sandy courtyard of Les Chouettes

Mons.eur de la Mariniere's hermitage"
sa;_d the Prefect to his companion. ^ '

It looks like one, sapristi ! " said the General.

ANGELOT

Nothing could seem stiller, more fast asleep,
than Les Chouettes in the approaching noon of
that hot September day. The dogs barked and
growled, it was true, but only one of them, the
youngest, troubled himself to get up from where
he lay in the warm sand. No human creature was
to be seen about the house or buildings; the si-
lence of the woods lay all around; the dry air
smelt delicately of wood smoke and fir trees ; the
shadows were very deep, cutting across the broad
belts of glowing sunshine.

" Every one is asleep," said the Prefect. " I
am afraid breakfast is over; we ought to have
arrived an hour ago."

" Caught them napping ! " chuckled the Gen-
eral.

The voices, and the clinking of bridles, as the
little cavalcade passed towards the house at a
walking pace, brought the cook to the kitchen
door. She stared in consternation. She was a
pretty woman, Gigot's wife, with a pale complex-
ion and black hair; her provincial cap was
very becoming. But she now turned as red as a
turkey-cock and her jaw dropped, as she stared
after the horsemen. No one had warned her:
there had not been time or opportunity. She was
just dishing up the roast meat for the hungry ap-
petites of Messieurs les Chouans, when behold,
the gendarmes! Who the gentlemen were, she
did not know ; but imperial gendarmes were never
a welcome sight to Monsieur Joseph's household.

t^^fntsmm

wmm::mi

" ^^ g6n£ral rim-bam-boum i - 3,

One of the gendarmes dismounted Wearing

Xiio" . "s: Tadtrl" "='^/™"' "'' -

a clever ,ln„. f '''^" ''"<' ""'•>' '"ok of

Clever dog; h.s eyes were everywhere.

" H„'^''v" !' "'" ''""''"■' " =he said to herself

wa"gLl"^';i1?"'"^''*°"«''''^--^^^

-blff^lothltTsraLtr^T-'''^
tha.^ ignorant Tobie, w; Zt Z:'V^7,l:
that s sure FI» f t^fl.-^' ht • "- ^'-" at last,

■•ng to him Bu; If "'"'"• '^''?"'" •»"'-

must be tTe Pre e^t T"^ " " '""-•-^- That
better than the St . / ""' "'^ ^^^ ''^ '^

She ran to the door again and looked out. An-

^^M'MS^r<^t^^M!Si'^w^%^fmmmkasB^^

ANGELOT

geloi, cool and quiet, had come out of the stable
and met the gendarme face to fa.e, returning his
salutation with indifference.

"It is Monsieur le Prefet? Certainly, my
uncle is at home," he said. " I am not sure that
he is in the house," and he walked on towards the
grou]) of horsemen.

"Not in the house!" breathed the cook.
" They are hiding, then ! They must have heard
or seen them coming — ah, how stupid I am!
I saw mademoiselle run past the window."

Angelot came bareheaded, smiling, to repre-
sent his uncle in welcoming the Prefect to Les
Chouettes. He would not have been his father's
son if the droll side of the situation had not
struck him. He thought it exquisite, though he
was sorry for his uncle's annoyance. The Chouan
guests had irritated him, and that they should
lose their breakfast seemed a happy retribution,
though he would have done all he could to save
them from further penalties. Angelot looked up
at the Prefect, his handsome sleepy eyes alight
with laughter.

" Do my uncle the pleasure of coming in, mon-
sieur," he said. "He will be here immediately;
he has been out shooting. It is exactly breakfast
time."

" We shall be very grateful for your uncle's
hospitality ; we have had a long ride in the heat,"
said the Prefect.

His eyes as they met Angelot's were very keen,

'^«''^y'V' ^^jrimM^SLK^^,^^''^yiBmi!i3H^wvM

"LE GfiNfiRAL BI.\I-BAM-BOUM!" 33

lar > goo, -l„„|,„,^ „,„,, .,,,,1 ,.„ |_.^ S

f-"y. lis manners >vere ihosc of ,|,e ^ " „
world; he was one of ,he nohles, and . ..«, «!^

he ^torTof K ""'^ '""• ^'"""''""■^ 8'"i"^ »''
tne gtory of France were one

" ^'°nsi"'r le General." he sai.i, turning to his
compan,on. " le, „e present Monsieur Ange 'let
Mann,ere, the son of Monsieur Urbain^ < L
Mar,n,=re one of my truest friends in the d^

partmeit.

The rough and mocking voice that answered
Happy to make his acquaintance"-

The Prefect, who for reasons of his own
watched the lad curiously, saw the change the

aid und:\ !^"^' ^'"" '^^"'^ ^-^^ -'^eny
and understood ,t pretty well. The new military

commander, r,sen from the ranks in every sense^
had nothmg to Justify his position except cour-'
age a talent for commanding, and devotion to
the Emperor. That he was not now fighting in
Spam was due partly to quarrels with other gen-
erals, partly to wounds received in the last Aus-
trian campaign, which unfitted him for the time
for active service. In sending him to this Royalis!
provmce of the West, Napoleon might have Led
at providmg the Prefect with an effective foil to
his own character and connections. The great

^^mifi^ssm^smsmtm^i'^mA

h'WS^i

ANGELOT

•m

Emperor by no means despised the trick of set-
ting his servants to watch one another.

One personal pecuHarity this General possessed,
which had both helped and hindered him in his
career. As Monsieur des Barres said, he was ex-
ceedingly like his master. A taller, heavier man,
his face and head were a coarse likeness of Na-
poleon's. There were the lines of beauty without
the sweetness, the strength without the genius,
the ingrained selfishness unveiled by any mask,
even of policy. General Ratoneau was repulsive
where Napoleon was attractive. He had fought
under Napoleon from the beginning, and had
risen by his own efforts, disliked by all his supe-
riors, even by the Empe/or, to whom the strange
likeness did not recommend him. But it had a
great effect on the men who fought under him.
Though he was a brutal leader, they were ready
to follow him anywhere, and had K nown to
call him le gros caporal, so strong and obvious was
this likeness. He was a splendid soldier, though
ill-tempered, cruel, and overbearing. He was a
man to be reckoned with, and so the amiable Pre-
fect found. Having himself plenty of scruples,
plenty of humanity, and a horror of civil war, he
found a colleague with none of these difficult to
manage. Nothing, for instance, was further from
the Prefect's wish than to spy upon his Royalist
neighbours and to drive them to desperation.
The very word Chouan represented to General
Ratoneau a wild beast to be trapped or hunted.

k rVlt-i ' ■*!- . I. >

'^■'ma^^wsmkmiBf^''''Jsmmrr'M^j,^':^tj^mc-

.sft/Tt^.'

"LE GfiNfiRAL BIM-BAM-BOUM!" 35

' .,f^"^f"' ',?''"' "' "■'' ™"' ="«l from the first
glan« hated him. There was so„,ething i„«,e„
m the stare of those Ih,I,I <lark eyes, whi h were

ness of the face; something mocking, threaten-
ing, as mtich as to say : "Vervi;,,.. ,. ,?.
but r ,l™'. 1 r "'"^y""'-. young felow,
but I <Ion t behevc a word of it. I believe von

bai,y as yon are, an.l yonr father, and^^'mde'
and the whole ..ihng of yon. are a set'o tr i or '
to the Emperor an,l ongh, to he hanged in a row
on those trees of yours. So take care how you
behave, young man ! " '

whlt'lin'^H^'r' ''"' ''"^"'"'^ '°°'<^' =>"<! ^aw
what kind of tnstant impression the General had

mad. No girl, a. the moment, conid have own

S.UU aloud, What odious retch is this I " such
proud dKsgust was written on his face Bu he
recovered himself instantly, and again laugh.e
wa^ very near the surface as he hegfed these'n w
guests to dismount. For the outwitting and dis-
appointing of such a horrible official was even a

"f rh"" °' '"" *^" '"^ *'"-"-« of the
poor Chouans at their breakfast table

Nothing could have ten more agreeable than

the manner in which Monsieur Joseph r«e ved

his unexpected visitors. They were hardlyl^Ihe

salon when be came lightly along the h.^, s ep

and air those of a much younger man. All smiles

he shook hands affectionately with the Pre ecTaS

bowed ceremoniously to the General. Th y Ld

ANGELOT

(lone him the greatest honour, caused him the
keenest <lelijjht. by tliis friendly visit of surprise.
Only he must beg them to pardon the deficiencies
of his household. He really could not say what
s<jrt of breakfast they were likely to find. Plenty,
he hoped — for his nephew hatl come in from a
long morning's sport, half-an-hour ago. and the
cook knew how to a measure a young man's appe-
tite. But as to quality — he could only throw
himself on the kind indulgence of his friends.

" As for mc," said the General. " I am as hun-
gry as a wolf, and I could eat a lump of brown
bread, and wash it down with a quart of sour
wine."

"Ah, ah! a true soldier, monsieur!" said
Monsieur Joseph, and clapped his hands gently.

" My uncle's wine is not sour, as Monsieur le
General will fiiul," said Angelot.

The General replied, with a scowl and a shrug,
" T don't suppose you mean to compare your wine
from this poor soil with the wine of the South, for
instance."

" Ah, pardon, but T do ! " cried the boy. " This
very morning, our farmer on the landes gave me
a glass of wine, white sparkling wine, which you
would hardly match in France, except, of course,
in the real champagne country. And even as to
that, our wine is purer. It tastes of sunshine and
of the white grapes of the vineyard. There is
nothing better."

" Nothing better for children, I dare say," said

" LL GfeNfeRAL BIM-BAJM-BQUM ! " ^^y

General Ratoneau. with a lau^h. " Me„ like
someth.ng s.-onger than sunshine and grapes
So will you. one of these clays "
Angelot looked hard at the man for a moment

f„ on Tm ^'••'^^■'^''"^^ '''' ^^^''^ •" h- '>ands.
on one of Monsieur Joseph's old Lotus Qmnz.

cha.rs vvh.ch seemed hardly fit to bear h.s weight

The dehcate atmosphere of old France was ail

about h.m Angelot and his uncle were incarna-

.ons of u, even m their plain shooting clothes-
and the Prefect, the Baron de Alauves. was'
worthy m looks and manners of the old regime

romvv^h,ch he sprang. The other man was 's^n

W.th h,s ghttermg uniform, h.s look of a coarse
Roman, he was the very type of military tvranny
at Its worst, without even the good manners of
pa^s^t days to soften the frank insolence of a sol-

himr^'f ''^"'^!''' ^ "^'"''^ "^>' ^^'^'' ^°"Id see
him ! Angelot thought.

Monsieur Joseph looked at his nephew His
sweet smile had faded, a sudden shadow of anx!
lety taking its place. How would Angelot bear
with his man ? Would he remember that in spite
of all provocation he must be treated civilly?
The Prefect also glanced up a little nervously at
AngeJot as he stood. Had the handsome, attrac-
tive boy any share at all of his father's wisdom
and faultless temper?
Angelot was conscious of both these warnings.

ANGELOT

'! 1

He answered the little uncle's with a smile, and
said easily — " It is possible — I cannot tell. As
to th > wine — I will ask your opinion after break-
fast, monsieur."

The Prefect's face cleared up suddenly. Ange-
lot was a worthy son of his father.

" It is quite unnecessary, my dear friend," he
said to Monsieur Joseph, " for you to attempt to
alarnj us about our breakfast. Your cook can
work miracles. This is not the first time, remem-
ber, that I have taken you by surprise."

" And you are always welcome, my dear
Baron," Monsieur Joseph answered gently, but a
little dreamily.

" I shall now have a fresh attraction in this
country," the Prefect said. " With your cousin,
De Sainfoy, at Lancilly, your neighbourhood will
indeed leave nothing to be desired."

" Herve is an agreeable man," said Monsieur
Joseph. " I have not seen him for many years ;
I do not know his wife and family. My brother
is charmed to welcome them all."

"Of course, and they must feel that they owe
everything to him. Monsieur your brother is a
benefactor to his country and species," said the
Prefect, with a smile at Angelot. " Madame de
Sainfoy is an exceedingly pretty woman. .She
made quiti a sensation at Court in the spring, and
I should think there will not be much difficulty in
her getting the appointment I understand she
wishes — lady in waiting to the Empress. Only

"LEg6n6rALBIM-BAM-BOUM!'' 39

SalnfoT ''fi' t\E-P-- ^oes not quite trust De
Woy - finds him a little half-hearted."

gently " ''"^'^^'" ^^'^ ^^^-^ Meph,

" Well, it is a pity," said the Prefect " Tf vn„
accept the new reeime at =,11 I , ^ "

loyally." ^ ^"' >'''" ^^^"Jd do it

"My cousin has a son fighting- in Soain Thof
ought to be placed to his credit " ^ ^^*

^He^HasnothLhr^rghl^u'^^^^^^^^^

you know aLady ? " '" ''""^ ^°" "^^*

Not at all, monsieur. I havp h»n..^ .1 •
Of it When „, cousins Hve a U„ ^,^17

H^Lt » M "°' "'" ™"^' "■« Mademoiselle
He lene was old enough to be married. And what
match IS arranged for her ' "

"None that I know of. Her father's action h,c

^ZrT-r' ^^'"™' ' understand h: ha
Mmply refused to consider one or two sueeestd

Josept""Hrl '•"'''• ' ^"PP°'''" -i" Monsieur
Joseph. He has my cordial sympathy."

chaTr' It ""'^''"'- "■' ^'""^i scraped his
chatr^ Angelot nearly laughed aloud.

You will find it very agreeable to have yoar

ANGELOT

cousins at Lancilly," the Prefect said, looking at
him kindly.

" I don't know, monsieur," Angelot answered.
" Young girls are hardly companions for me."

" Indeed! As to that — " began the Prefect,
still smiling as he looked at the lad ; but his re-
mark was cut short and his attention pleasantly
distracted.

Gigot, with unshaken solemnity, set open the
doors for the second time that morning.

'* Monsieur est servi ! "

li,

MS^-ii

CHAPTER IV

HOW THE BREAKFAST COOKED FOR THOS-. WAS
EATEN BY THESE

The Prefect and the General enjoyed their
breakfast thoroughly. They sat over it long: so
long that Angelot, his hunger satisfied, began to
suffer ,n nis young limbs from a terrible restless-
ness. It was as much as he could do to sit still
listemng first to the Prefect's political and so^
ciety talk then to stories of the General's cam-
pai^s. Under the influence of the despised wine
of Anjou, Monsieur de Mauves, whose temper
needed no sweetening, became a little sleepy, prosv
and long-winded. General Ratoneau on his side
was mightily cheered, and showed quite a new
animation: long before the meal ended, he was
talking more than the other three put together
It was he who had been the hero of Eylau of
FriecHand, of Wagram; the Emperor and 'the
Marshals were nowhere. All the great move-
ments v-re in consequence of his advice >\nd
then his personal courage ! The men he had killed
with his own hand ! As to the adventures which
had fallen to his lot in storming and plundering
towns, burning villages, quartering his men on

ANGELOT

country houses, these often belonged so much to
the very seamiest side of war that Monsieur Jo-
seph, soldier as he was, listened with a frown, and
the Prefect coughed and glanced more than once
at Angelot. For some of these stories were
hardly suited to young and innocent ears, and
Angelot looked, and indeed was, younger than
his age.

He was listening, not curiously, but with a
kind of unwilling impatience. The man seemed
to impress him in spite of himself, in spite of dis-
gust at the stories and dislike of the teller. Once
or twice he laughed, and then General Ratoneau
gave him a stare, as if just reminded of his ex-
istence, and went on to some further piece of
coarse bragging.

Monsieur Joseph became paler and graver, An-
gelot more restless, the Prefect sleepier, as the
rough voice talked on. Angelot thought break-
fast would never be over, and that this brute
would never have done boasting of his fine deeds,
such as hanging up six brothers in a row r utside
their own house, and threatening the mother and
sisters with the same fate unless they showed htm
the way to the cellar, where he knew they had
hidden plate and jewellery, as well as a quantity of
good wine.

" You would not have done it, monsieur ? " said
Angelot, quickly.

The General assured him with oaths that he
certainly would.

HOW rare BREAKFAST WAS EATEN 43

he sa d. We d,d not hurt them, as it happened
We stnpped the house, and left them to bufy ,1,1^:
men ,f they chose. What had they ,0 eL« '
Fortune of war, my boy ! " "^

Angelot shrugged his shoulders.
You should send that nephew of yours to
earn a few things in the army," the GeneTsa H
o Monsieur Joseph, when th^y at la^^^ n'd

nnVv \ ^"^"'■°'""- ""<= ™"' grow up

keep^h,m down here among your woods much

"I am not his father," Monsieur Tosenh an
-vered wtth some dryness. " He is / fri „'d of"

Wm M ■ /°" "" '"'"y «>nonstrate with

nim, Monsieur e General r.,* .

about young Ange He ;, I =^"""«="'«"
J- uiig /Ynge. He is neither a ^ rl nor p

baby, but a very gallant young fellow in hu
-ane and innocent, of course-! but yl'ur tories
might pierce a thicker skin; I fancy "

at le h^T^'r '2"f "^ "'°'"^' '' '"'y ="•""'1 out
shile "' '""'^ "'° *' ^f''™°™ ^"n-

helH'"'"?"' H *"*" *■'' "■' "Sht to talk,"
he said I need not tell a man who knows the
world, hke you, that I should never have hanged
those women - poor country rubbish though th^
were, and ugly ,00, I remember. But the met
had^^ed .0 resist, and martial ,aw ^tt S

ANGELOT

I I

l< i

Some reassurance of the same kind was given
to Angelot by the Prefect, who lingered behind
with him.

" And our conscripts go for this, monsieur ! "
Angelot said.

" My dear boy," said Monsieur de Mauves,
lazily, "you must take these tales cum grano.
P'or instance, if I know the Emperor, he would
have shot the man who hanged those women.
And our friend Ratoneau knew it."

Les Chouettes seemed stiller than ever, the sun
hotter, the atmosphere more sleepy and peaceful.
The dogs were lying in various directions at full
length on the sand. The sleeping forms of the
Prefect's gendarmes were also to be seen, stretched
on the grass under the southern belt of fir trees.
One moving figure came slowly into sight on the
edge of the opposite wood, and strolled into the
sunshine, stooping as she came to pick the pale
purple crocuses of which the grass was full — lit-
tle Henriette, a basket on her arm, her face shaded
by a broad straw bonnet.

The General shaded his eyes with his hand,
and stared at her.

"Who is that young girl, monsieur?" he
asked.

The question itself seemed impertinent enough,
but the insolence of the tone and the manner sent
a quiver through Monsieur Joseph's nerves. His
face twitched and his eyes flashed dangerously.
At that moment he would have forgiven any rash-

HOW THE BREAKFAST WAS EATEN 45

ness on the part of his Chouan friends ; he would
have hked to see Monsieur d'Ombre's pistol
w.th>n a few inches of the (General's head, and if
It had gone off, so much the better. He wondered
vvhy he had not encouraged Cesar d'Ombre's idea
of making these men prisoners. Perhaps he was
nght after all; the boldest policy might have
been the best. Perhaps it was a splendid oppor-
tunity lost. Anyhow, the imperial officials would
have been none the worse for coolin^r their heels
and starving a little, the fate of the Royalists now.
As to the consequences. Monsieur Joseph in his
present mood might have made short work of
them had it not been for that young girl in the
meadow.

" It is my daughter, Monsieur le General "
A person with finer instincts could not have
failed to notice the angry shortness of the reply
But the General was in high good humour, for
hmi, and he coolly went on adding to his
offences.

"Your daughter, is it! I did not know you
were married. I understood from Monsieur le
i^refet that you were a lonely hermit. Is there
a Madame de la Mariniere hidden away some-
where? and possibly a few more children? This
house is a kind of beehive. I dare say - " he
walked on to the grass, and turned to stare at
the windows. " Was madame afraid to enter-
tain us? My stories would have been too strong
for her, perhaps? but I assure you, monsieur,

ANGELOT

I know how to behave to women ! " and he
laughed.

" I hope so, monsieur, especially as you are
not now in Germany," said Monsieur Joseph,
thinking very earnestly of his own sword and
pistols, ready for use in his ov/n room.

He need only step in at that window, a few
yards ofif. A fierce word, a blow, would be a
suitable beginning — and then — if only Riette
were out of sight, and the Prefect would not in-
terfere — there could not be a better ground than
the sand here by the house. Must one wait for
all the formalities of a duel, with the Prefect and
Angelot to see fair play ? However, he tried hard
to restrain himself, at least for the moment.

" My wife is dead, monsieur, and I have but
that one child," he said, forcing the words out
with difficulty: it was a triumph of the wise
and gentle Joseph over the fiery and passionate
Joseph.

He thought of Urbain, when he wanted to
conquer that side of himself; Urbain, who by
counsel and influence had made it safe for him to
live under the Empire, and who now, hating vul-
garity and insolence as much as he did himself,
would have pointed out that General Rato-
neau's military brutality was not worth resent-
ing; that there were greater things at stake
than a momentary annoyance; that the man's
tongue had been loosened, his lumbering spirit
quickened, by draughts of sparkling wine of

-I

HOW THE BREAKFAST WAS EATEN 47

Anjou. and that liis horrible ct.riosity carried no
nt m,onal msult with it. Indeed, as Monsieur
Joseph perceive** nnniediately. with a kind of
uonder. the man fancied that he was making
himself agreeable to his host.

ani f *'' '^P'"'^^'- ^ ^"^ '^^ry for you, monsieur,
and for the young lady too." he said. " I am no
marned myself _ but the loss of wife and mother
must be a dreadful thing. Excuse a soldier's
tongue, monsieur."

Monsieur Joseph accepted the apology with a
quick movement of head and hand, being as
placable as he was passionate. The General con-
tinued to stare at Henriette, who moved slowly
seemmg to think of nothing, to see nothing, but
the wdd flowers and the crowd of flitting butter-
flies m the meadow.

During this little interlude, one of the gen-
darmes, who had seemed asleep, got up and moved
owards the Prefect, who turned to speak to him,
and after the first word walked . =th him a fe^
yards .^^ •- be out of hearing of the others.
Angelot, who had been standing beside the Pre-
fect glanc.d after them with a touch of anxiety

het, "VlV'^Vr"'' '' *'^^ ^^"^'^™' though

specially dangerous. He walked forward a few
steps and stood beside his uncle. Suppose the
mee ing of that morning, risky if not unlawful,
were to come to the Prefect's knowledge; sup-
pose his uncle's dangerous friends were ferreted

ANGELOT

out of their hiding-place in the -vood ; what then
was he, his father's son, to do? His mother's
son, though far enough from sharing her en-
thusiasms, had an answer ready: whj tever it
might cost, he must stand by the little uncle and
Riette.

" Your daughiT is still young," — it was the
General's hoarse voice — " too young yet to be
repor<ed to the Emperor. Monsieur le Prefet
must wait three or four years. Then, when
she is tall and pretty — "

Angelot's brow darkened. What was the
creature saying?

"You were pleased to mean — " Monsieur
Joseph was asking, with extreme civility.

" Ah, bah, have you heard nothing of the new
order? Well, as I say, it will not affect you at
present. But ask Monsieur le Prefet. He will
explain. It is rather a sore subject with him, I
believe, he has tht rejudices of his class — of
your class, I mean

" You are talkmg in riddles, indeed, mon-
sieur," said Monsieur Joseph.

They looked round at the Prefect. He had now
finished his short talk with the gendarme, and as
he turned towards the other group, Angelot's
young eyes perceived a shadow on his kind face,
a grave look of awakened interest. Angelot was
also aware that he beckoned to him. As soon as
he came up with him, the Prefect said, " That
is mademoiselle your cousin, is it not, gathering

HOW TFIE BREAKFAST WAS EATEN 49

flowers in the meadow? I should like to pay her
my comphnients. if she is conuns this wav "

I will s:o and tell her so. Monsieur le'Prefet "
said Angelot. '

" Do. my friend."

His eyes, anxious and thoughtful, followed the
young man as he walked across towards the dis-
tant edge of the wood, whose dark shadows
opened behind Riette and the crocuses. S L
ooked up. startled, as her cousin came near, and

into'thT°"''"; T'^ '" ''""'^' °^ ^••■-•^PPearing

nto the wood; but a sign from him reassured

her. and she came with a dancing step to meet

Prifl '•'''' It J^"""'"^ '"""^'^y' ^^""^'^u'- Je
Prefect r" f '^^""'•' ^"^^'"^ ^^'-^>'' ^^ ^he
t!, M •"'•''"'^ '^'' '''^'' "^^"^ " I ''«ve been
telling Monsieur de la Mariniere that one of these
days^ you will report his daughter to the Em-

The Prefect looked angry and annoyed. His
handsome face flushed. With an involuntary
movement he laid his hand on Monsieur Joseph's
shoulder; their eyes met. and both men smiled

" thnVT^'Tr.'^""^'"'"'^ ^^°'^^'^"'- ^^ Mauves.

Fran ^^^T'' ^'""^ "°^ >'^^ ^"'*^ ^^o^
France. His ideas have great spirit and orig-

mahty but they are not always ver^ practical ''

arn \7.u ^'^ ^^^"^'•^"y put into practice,"
growled the General.

"Yes — but I do not think this one will go

j|^

ANGELOT

far. Certainly, it will have died out long before
Mademoiselle de la Mariniere is grown up."

"But explain, my dear friend!" cried Mon-
sieur Joseph, "is the Emperor going to raise
a regiment of Amazons, to fight Russia? 1 am
dying with curiosity."

" Some people would find your idea less dis-
.<p able than the fact," said the Prefect, smil-
i p. while the General shook with laughter.

Amazons ! ha ! ha ! capital I I should like to
liad them."

It seemed that the Prefect, for once, was
ashamed of his great master. He went on to ex-
plain, in a hurried fashion, how he and his
brother Prefects had received this very singular
command from the Emperor — that they were
to send him, not a mere list, but a catalogue rair
Sonne, of all the well-born girls in their several
departments; their personal appearance, their
disposition, their dowries, their prospects in the
future; in short, every particular regarding
them. And with what object? to arrange mar-
riages between these young women of the best
blood in France and his most favoured officers.
It was one way, an original way, of making so-
ciety loyal to the Empire; but the plan savoured
too much of the treatment of a conquered country
to please men like the Baron de Mauves. He
might speak of it with a certain outward respect,
as coming from the Emperor; and the presence
of General Ratoneau was also a check upon his

■:¥:mr'm£M

HOW THE BREAKFAST WAS KATEN 51

real sentiments; h„t he was not surprised at
Monsieur Joseph's evident (lis^u.st. and not out of
sympathy with it.

The reign of the soldier! Thev were heroes,
perhaps, many of these men whom Xapoleon de-
1-ghted to hotmur. It was nut unnatural that he
should heap dukedoms and pen^ions and orders
upon them. [Jut it seemed a dangerous step for-
ward, to force such men as this Katoneau, for in-
stance into the best families of 1 ranee. No
dotibt he. m spite of his Napoleonic looks, was a
bad specnne., ; but Monsieur Joseph might be
excused ,f he looked at him as he said : " My de r
Baron. ,t is tyranny. I speak frankly, gentlemen;
t ,s a step on the road to ruin. Our old fa.nilies
will not bear it. What have you done.? "

"Nothing," said Monsieur de Mauves ' I
think most of the Prefects agree with me;' it is
an order which will have to be repeated "

On w-hich the General turned round with a
grin, and quoted to him his own words — " Mon
sieur le Prefet-if you accept the new regime,
you should accept it loyally."

;• Pardon - nothinc: of this before the
children, I beg," exclaiined Monsieur Joseph in
haste, for Ange'ot and Henriette were coming
across the meadf)w.

The Prefect's delicate brows went up; he
shrugged his shoulders, and moved off with a
somewhat absent air to meet the young people.
The sunshine, the flowery meadow, the mo-

ANGELOT

i'!

tionless woods all about in the still afternoon : no
background could be more peaceful. Nor could
any unwelcome visitor with official power be
more gentle and courteous than the Prefect as he
took off his hat and bowed low to the slim child
in her old clinging frock, who curtseyed with her
hands full of crocuses and a covered basket on her
arm. But little Riette and her cousin Angelot
watched the amiable Prefect with anxious, sus-
picious eyes, and she took his kind words and
compliments with an ease of reply which was not
quite natural. She was a responsible person in
her father's house at all times; but the fates of
men had never, perhaps, been hung round her
neck before. Why, the very fact of their con-
cealment would be enough to condemn the four
in government eyes looking out for conspiracies.
And Monsieur des Barres, always lively, had said
to Riette ten minutes ago : " Now, mademoi-
selle, you have sheltered us, you have fed us;
we depend on you to keep all inconvenient per-
sons out of the wood."

" Stay where you are till they are gone, and
have no fear," the child answered, and went back
to meet the enemy.

And presently the Prefect said, " You have
gathered some very pretty flowers, mademoi-
selle."

" Pray take some, monsieur," said Riette.

The Prefect took two crocuses in his fingers,
and cleverly slipped them into a buttonhole, for

HOW THE BREAKFAST WAS EATEN 53

which they were not very well suited. Then he
went on talking about flowers for a minute or
two, but tlie subject was soon exhausted, for his
knowledge lay among garden flowers, and Riette
knew none but those that grew among her own
woods and fields. Then suddenly and without
warnmg, those pointed fingers of his had lifted
the cover of the basket. It was done with a
smile, as one might do it, a little mischievousl",
to a child trymg to hide something, and with the
words- More flowers, mademoiselle?" At
the bottom of the basket lay two corks and a
small roll of bread. St. Elizabeth's miracle was
not repeated for Henriette.

Angelot smiled and bit his lip; then looked at
the fpces of his two companions. In the Prefect's
there was plainly a question. Riette flushed
crimson; for a moment her dark eyes were cast
down; then there was something both roguish
and pathetic in them, as she looked up at the man
on whom so much depended.

" Monsieur," said the sweet, childish voice " I
often eat my breakfast out-of-doors - 1 did to-
day.

The Prefect smiled, but gravely. Angelot
hardly thought that he was deceived.

" It is an agreeable thing to do, when one is
young, the Prefect said. " Young, and with a
dear conscience. But most people, if they had
the choice, would prefer your father's hospitable
dining-room." ^

ANGELOT

He turned with a wave of his hand and walked
towards the house.

" What have you done, child ? " said Angelot,
half laughing, half solemn.

'* I did not tell a lie," said Riette. " Marie gave
me something for myself too : she and papa both
said I must not have breakfast with you. Oh,
they were hungry, Angelot! They devoured
what I took, especially the Baron d'Ombre. I am
sorry there was a bit of bread left, and I don't
know how the corks got there. But, my dear, he
knows nothing ! "

" Hush. I am not so sure. Now keep out of
the way till they are gone."

This was a counsel of perfection, which Henri-
ette did her best to follow; but it was difficult,
for the time was long. All the household at Les
Chouettes became very restless and impatient as
the afternoon wore on, but none of them dared
show it. Poor Monsieur Joseph summoned up
all his powers of general conversation, which
were a little rusty, to entertain the Prefect, who
went on talking politics and society as if life, for
him, had no more immediate and present interest.
Angelot marched about with an uneasy sense
of keeping guard; knowing, too, that his father
was expecting him to help to receive the dis-
tinguished cousins at Lancilly. He did not mind
that much; the idea of the Sainfoy family was
not very attractive to him: he thought they
might interfere with the old freedom of the coun-

HOW THE BREAKFAST WAS EATEN 55

«CTt ms little uncle h a difficultv H-
poured out some of his irritation onThe Prefers

catcher. "'" ^""°''' *' Chouan-

something about disturbfnrth?^™ " T"""^
on^ Simon gHnned as he^,:^:errhr --

--Hed":n'n:fa':tSn 7 'rr'"'''

in upon him a, h. i Angelot looked

sH.t^ewarm^l'e'hrerElperrr^'-
and as with Napoleon. theretTa Tort !f T-''

~hr;otro7:ri:h:uttr°'^''^^

"He i'« a ho ^ vvui witnout the genius,
rte IS a handsome beast, but I hate himi"

here, what ^Zl^ ::f'Z^'r'" ""'
And What can an^hod/do^NX^S

ANGELOT

brought the Empire, as my father says, and he
does not agree with Uncle Joseph that it does
much more harm than good. For my part, I
would as soon live in peace — and it does not
please me to be ruled by overbearing soldiers
and police spies. However, as long as they leave
me my dog and gun and the freedom of the woods,
they may have their politics to themselves for
me. — Here I am, dear uncle."

He turned from the window with a shrug.
Monsieur Joseph and the Prefect had been stroll-
ing about the meadow, and the Prefect now ex-
pressed a wish to walk round the woods, and to
see the view of Lancilly from the high ground
beyond them.

Angelot went with the two men. They walked
right through the wood. The Prefect stopped
and talked within twenty yards of the hovel
where the four conspirators lay hidden. It was
a grand opportunity for old Monsieur d'Ombre's
pistol-shot; but not a movement, not a sound
broke the stillness of the wood. There was only
the rustling of the leaves, the squeak of the squir-
rels as they raced and scampered in the high
branches of the oaks.

The two La Marinieres stood on each side of
Monsieur de Mauves : they were a guard to him,
though he did not know it, as his eves wandered
curiously, searchingly, down the glade in which
he chose to linger.

A rough whitewashed corner of the hovel.

ff5

HOW THE BREAKFAST WAS EATEN 57

^e mass of its dark roof, were actually visible
beyond an undergrowth of briars. ^

What have you there? " said the Prefect so
qu-tly that his companions did not even uspe"
liim of a suspicion suspect

.to'^d tfirz^. T ■''"', """' --^

-ered .r„,hf:„ "to h "XT ^°7' '"'
k^: u^ t ' "'^ cheeks and evp<5

bn^htened a l„.,e, as if prepared for solZ,

fivl'lf'ir *° ^■■''''' ™'y '="''• '""king rather

sln2 f ^ " "P ""^ '""' "'^ugl- higher

oaks here allowed to grow to their full size and
out ,„to a rugged lane, winding on th ouLh „;m
hedges festooned with blackberries. HeTa. the

X'aTiMa^' "1^'" ^"°- '"^ valley^U !
«lly, as t lay ,n the sunshine Its high roof,
flas,„„g, „ looked indeed the n, .jestic cTntrro
he country-side. Angelo. ga.ed at it nd ffer

"It will be charming for you to haye your
cous,„s there. They will reconcile you to "he
powers that be."

Angelot answered: "I have no quarrel with
the powers that be, monsieur, as long as Tou
represem them. As to life. I want noMange

ANGELOT

Give me a gun and set me on a moor with my
uncle. There we are 1 "

" If I thought your uncle was quite so easily
satisfied!" the Prefect said, and his look, as he
turned to Monsieur Joseph, was a little enigmat-
ical.

CHAPTER V

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY

T f ;''^" annoyance and anxiety
°^ twice and s'aw Z\l'X ^tt'T ™"

-an black fi,u„ in ,he mu::''^:":':

AAru . " ^ "^'■^°w path ran.

ANGELOT

the last horse had died away, Monsieur Joseph
made a little joyful spring into the air and called,
" Riette, my child, where are you?"

" Here I am, papa ! " cried the girl, darting
forward. " Ah, what a day we have had ! "

" And what an evening we will have now I "
said Monsieur Joseph.

He seized her two hands, and they danced round
together. In the shadow behind the house Gigot
and Marie followed their example, while Tobie,
having no partner, jumjped up and down with
his arms akimbo. Mademoiselle Riette, catch-
ing sight of him, laughed so exhaustingly that
she could dance no longer. Then the whole
family laughed till the tears ran down their
faces, while the dogs sat round and wagged their
tails.

" The good God has protected us," said Gigot,
coming forward to his master. " Does monsieur
know that one of *hose gendarmes was Simon,
the police agent, the Chouan-catcher. they call
him? When I saw him, my heart died within
me. Ent we were too clever for him. He went
smelling about, but he found nothing."

" He smelt somethir- though," growled
Tobie the groom. " H.. ould have searched
the stable and found the ini,er place if I had not
stood in front of him : luckily I was the biggest
man of the two. It is not so easy, do you see, to
make a way past me."

" I gave them enough good food and wine to

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY 61

le cook. It uas a sad waste, but the only way
to keep such creatures quiet ** ^

^«got How lie slept and s.iored and kicked

for . saw h,: sconce i"''"°^' ' '""-■

sieuf T 'r';"^"""^"""'' Giffot," said Mon-
se„r Joseph; for Gigot. like n,any solemn and

of nmv M,t^' have s„o,e.l,ing else to think
ot n„«. Make haste with dinner, Marie. We
must console our poor frien.ls for their captivUy
Come Riette, we will go and fetch them " ^'

ettcs" I'd 2T'"^ ™' ' "'"'' °"' =" Les Chou-
bitch f °" ™'' '"^'' "^^f"' the second

batch of guests climbed slowly to the moo "„

their homeward way. The day's experience had

va ced'tfe-'f ''f ""'''^'- »™how. ad
vanced the,r plans for a rising. Even the Comte

Ombre agreed that the time was hardly ripe

hat five or s,x men might throw away thrir own

.t,on, that the peasants must be sounded, pub-
1.C opm.on educated; and that the Pr^feC^
courteous moderation was an odious quality whch
made everything more difficult.

And m the meanwhile. Monsieur de Mauv«
was justifying their conclusions in a way "ha
would have startled them. ^

ANGELOT

m *

Beyond the wood, Angelot led the party across
stubble-fields, where blue field flowers with grey
dusty leaves clustered by the wayside, and dis-
tant poplars, pointing high into the evening air,
showed where his home lay. Then they turned
down into one of the hollow lanes of the country,
its banks scooped out by winter rains and tread-
ing of cattle, so that it was almost like three
sides of a cylinder, while the thick pollard oaks,
leaning over it, made twilight even in the linger-
ing sunshine.

The General was riding in front, the gen-
darmes some yards behind; Angelot, with his
dog and gun, kept close beside the Prefect, who
talked to him with his usual friendliness. Pres-
ently he said, " I love your uncle, Angelot, much
better than he loves me, and I am sorry that he
should run such useless risks."

" What risks, monsieur ? " the young man said,
glancing up quickly; and somehow it was diffi-
cult to meet the Prefect's eyes.

" Ah, you know very well. Believe me, your
father is right, and your uncle is wrong. The old
regime caimot be reestablished. The path of
France is marked out for her; a star has arisen
to guide her, and she is foolish, suicidal, not to
follow where it leads. I do not defend or admire
the Emperor in everything: but see what he
has done for France. She lay ruined, distracted.
She took the mountain path of liberty, made a few
wrong turns, and was dashed over the precipice.

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY 63

cost much bloud If ,« fr., I , '*^" ^^^

"evcion of „e„ HkeVo tundra" "'T" ""
stance -Monsieur <le, Barres' n '"'

patriotism lead a mnn. I V "'^ "°' '"■«

Rood and Zy Z M Z ,°' "'^ """•^^''
-Ha. n,edi.va, fiction o^'^^^. Y^^

4"on:ir/:i,;f-- --. .o ..

finw ^"u ^.°" '^" "^'•" ^h^ P'-efect replied " T
find .t hard to forgive him. He is free If
to put his own neck in dang r oIIT"'
days he will driv.* ,v,« ♦ °*^ these

himself and hLfri" d ° "'''"""^' """ ""' «"<"
if nothingto^serppe ' 27"^" - '"*^

o "v"" ^"'l '""o™' Vour father should s«

The P f™^" "°' '° ''^"^ been there tc^day"
. The Prefect spoke low and earnestly J,
impossible to misunder«=,„H ramestiy. It „as

something like a cold .ti ■ '^"«"°' '"'

But he smiled and als "^""/"""'"S over him.
_ »iiiiiea and answered bravely

" ">■ «"cle has been f«lish, ^ h,^e I, and

-^'^i ■.umr%<:

ANGELOT

I will share the consequences with him. But as
to to-day, monsieur ? "

" I know all," the Prefect said. " Your uncle
had visitors this morning, who were spirited away
out of our sight. Their horses were hi<lden in an
inner stable; they themselves in a hovel in the
wo(xl — and if they have waited there till we
were gone, they must l)e tired of it. That famous
breakfast we enjoyed was not prepared on such
miraculously short notice. Your little cousin,
poor child, was employed to carry frxjd to the
fugitives hidden in the wood. With all my heart
I pity her; a life of political plots is not happi-
ness. But if Monsieur <le la Mariniere does not
hesitate to sacrifice his daughter, it is no wonder
that he lightly runs his nephew into danger ! You
acted well, you and he. But I almost think it
might have been safer to carry on that first break-
fast-party, and not show its character by absurd
attempts at concealment. You cannot contradict
a word I have been saying. Angelot. I do not
ask you to tell me the names of your uncle's
guests."

" If you did, monsieur," the young fellow an-
swered, " I should consider that an uncomfort-
able day had punished them enough, and so I
should respectfully decline to answer you. I don't
know how you made all these wonderful discov-
eries."

The Prefect looked at him and laughed.
" You take it lightly ! "

HOW AN^GRLOT MADH AX ENRMY 65

;; I am spcakin.Mo a frion.i;- XngeM said,
n.at ,s all very udl. ^ e.s --• too g<„>d a
fnencl I ear. fron, the p<.nt of vi^^^^

But I. shall not repent, it y..u will he warned into
prudence yot,r.self. and will warn ycn,r uncle "

has all the prudence of th.- family "

Phe fVefect would have argued further, hut

^^^d'^rV"'^'^^^^'^""^'^^-^'"^
ecu eci fjnv\;, Lhe lane.

;;VV'ut is that? -he said, looking rotmd.

and 1;; ;;"''"''"'■• ^'"" ^'^^'^ i"to the bank
anci g,.c them room to pass." said Angelot

Ihe gendarmes, who knew the >u-'.trv had
already taken this precaution. Tl.v v^-n/draw
Jng up in single file by the sid; ^ .
under the steep bank, pressinr .n;,
shadow of the pollards. Bu. . i,.-
in advance, was riding stolid.' • ,
along at a quick foot's pace 'in t!,'
of the narrow lane, with all that sw ... nne air
of a conqueror, which was better suited to Ger-
nian helds than to the quiet woody ways of
France. Angelot hurried forward

"Monsieur le General!" he called out; but
Ratoneau. though he must have heard, did not
turn his head or take any notice

"Insolent animal! I might as well leave him
to fight ,t out with the cows," the young fellow
-uttered; but for the Prefect's sake 'he ra^
"". his dog scampering after him, caught up

• " '(\ close

;» v.:< dark

i'r.;-:-eau,

■'' -'•^••ng

VI ^- -r,: ;,J:e

ing air

ANGELOT

the General, and stretched out a hand to his
bridle.

" What the devil do you want ! " said the Gen-
eral, lifting his whip.

" There is a herd of cows coming." Angelot
shouted, though the blood rushed into his face
at the man's involuntary movement. " You must
get out of their way, or they will knock you down
and trample on you. This is their way home
Draw up under the bank at once."

" I shall get out of nobody's way," roared the
General. " But you had better get out of mine,
little ape of a Chouan, or — "

The whip quivered in the air; another moment
would have brought it down on Angelot's bare
hand. He cried out, " Take care! " and in that
momen . atched the whip and threw it over the
horse's head. It fell into a mass of blackberry
briars which made a red and green thicket under
the bank just here. The lane turned slightly and
was very narrow at this place, with a stony slope
upwards. It wao a little more than usual like
the dry bed of a torrent. Only under the right-
hand bank there was a yard of standing-room,
where it was possible to draw aside while the
crowd of horned beasts rushed past. The thun-
der of their hoofs was drawing near. The Prefect,
fifty yards behind, called out advice to his angry
colleague, wliich fell on deaf ears. Angelot was
pelted w ith some choice specimens of a soldier's
vocabulary, as he seized the bridle and tried to

i*2->'v

^W^

JS^S

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY 67

pull the horse to the side of the road. But the
n^er s violent resistance made this impo sible
The horse plunged: the General, swearinrfu ri
ousy^ d,d his best to throw Angelot do Ju de
Its feet. For a m.nute the young fellow did his

but tl^en he was obhged ,0 let the bridle go
and stepped ,0 ,he shelter of the bank, wWk
man and horse filled up the roadwa; with
prancing and swearing. ^ "

" Give me back my whio von " ,h.

epithets which foUoLd wVe^new J An"

Mill there was something so ridiculous in the
Generals fury that Angelot could scarcely heb
laughing in his face as he called nnf ^

" When th^ °"^ '" answer,

ask ^ " n T' "'■' ^°"^' "^°"'^'e«r, if you
ask me civi Iv T h^M <.^ * i • ^

have struck L / u ^ ' "' "^ >'°" w™M
^^avestruck me, and that was out of the ques-

Even as he spoke, the cattle were coming The

1. ^^'l"'" "'"^ ' '°"<' •"=•- °f padding feet
panting h.des. low heads, and long fier« Lm.
An old bull of unfriendly aspect led^he way Tnd
one or two younger bulls came pushing audio"
■ng among the quieter cows. Behind the larl
horned creatures came a few goats and sheep ,' he,^

^aceshehad^no.r'l-ov!:'.: :;~
poured along l.ke water in a stream's bed.irrllt'

ANGELOT

ible, unresisted. They knew their own way home
from pasture to the yards at La Mariniere. This
was their own road, worn hollow by no trampling
but theirs and that of their ancestors. Anything
or anybody they happened to meet always drew
aside to let them pass, and they were not as a rule
ill-tempered.

General Ratoneau thought he could ride
through them, and spurred his restless horse,
fresh from Monsieur Joseph's corn, straight at
the wedged heads and shoulders of the advanc-
ing herd. The horse plunged, shied, tried to bolt ;
and there were a few moments of inextricable
confusion. Angelot shouted to the woman in
charge of the cows; she screamed to the dog,
which dived among them, barking. Frightened,
they scrambled and crushed together so that An-
gelot was pressed up by their broad sides against
the bank, and only lifted himself out of their way
by climbing to the trunk of a tree. The sun was
setting; the dazzling light, in a sky al' gold and
red and purple, lay right across the lane: the
General's uniform, his horse's smart trappings,
flashed and swayed above the brown mass for a
moment or two as it pushed down the slope.
Then the horse fell, either slipping on a stone or
pushed over by the cattle, but fortunately not un-
der their feet. He and his master rolled over to-
gether into the briars on the farther side of the
lane, and there lay struggling till the beasts had
crowded by, hurrying on past the rest of the

"mi

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY 69

party, drawn prudently aside in the shelter of
the bank.

As soon as they were gone, the Prefect and the
gendarmes rode up to help Angelot, who had al-
ready pulled the General out of the briars, un-
hurt, except by scratches. The horse had at once
struggled to its feet, and stood trembling in the

It was impossible for any one but the sufferer
to take such an adventure seriously. Two of the
gendarmes were convulsed with laughter; it was
only Simon whose native cleverness and keen
sense of his own advantage kept his face grave
and sympathising, as he handed the General his
hat an, the other objects which his tumble had
sent fly. ng. The Prefect was smiling as he
asked anxiously whether any bones were broken
Angelot trembled with hardly restrained laughter'
It had seized him with an overpowering force'
when he saw the General's fat figure rise in
the air with a most undignified jerk, then be-
ing deposited in the thicket with a fine pair of
nding boots and shining spurs uppermost. This
was so exactly the accident that suited the man's
swaggering airs of superiority, Angelot felt that
he could almost forgive him his insolent words
and looks, could almost bear the incomprehensible
language of five minutes ago, the threatened

s roke with the whip-ah. by the bv. here lay
the precious whip, with its silver handle, safely
deposited ,n the bushes out of the cows' way

Kvs/^^L

ANGELOT

Angelot magnanimously picked it up and pre-
sented it to the General with a bow. He grunted
a word meant for thanks, but the eyes that met
Angelot's flashed with a dark fury that startled
the careless boy and came back to his mind af-
terwards.

" Whose beasts were those ? " the General asked
hoarsely,-.

" They were my father's beasts, monsieur "
Angelot answered. " They did not realize, unfor-
tunately — " He broke ofif under a warning look
from the Prefect, who went on with the sen-
tence for him — " No one would regret such a
tiresome accident more than your father, I am
sure."

" I was going to say so," Angelot murmured
softly. " Now if they had been my uncle's
cattle — "

The General turned his back and mounted his
horse. "The owner does not signify," he
growled. " He cannot be punished. But 'it was
either foolishness or malice that brought us along
such a road."

"Come, come, General, that was my fault,
after all!" the Prefect said pleasantly. "And
you must acknowledge that our young friend did
his best to save you. We all knew this country
and Its ways better than you did — it is a pity,
but there is no more to be said."

The Cieneral seemed to be of the same opinion,
for he rode ..ff without a word. Angelot, looking

J\:

M:*:;:

.^M

■'mi<.2^r'^K. ^im^^m'^mMmm^mm^iMm

fl'«'

?^^'

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY 7.
as fo .hT T ''''" ™^ ^^'''"e a las. direction

?oV:H:tra'sTcjit:trrHr"^"

were: " Adieu, ™, 4 '1 ";;^, -' -;<lj
n.ake „y best con,pli„,e„t» ,n yo„rpa «, f N
doub. we shall n,eet soon a. Lancii;- '"'■ '"'

sau.XeCi-i:;r'^'°--^''«"^->'"

f J ^°r "'y •' ^^"^ "e not inseparable " the Pr,.
fee. «p„ed. and waved his hand'^indly-astr^dt

he".He7trst;Le':J'"l"°';'^'^-''--P'"e?
^eet independently, and then we shaH see m

--.>-a,,,hew,:i:ij:Lt;ro:ti:d°:

He laughed at the remembrance of the scene
and thought how he would describe it t
mother. Then h^ \^ ^c^»-riDe it to his

all that had r , f "'^ ^''''''' remembering
^ inat had gone before. The Prpf^^f

fn-d and a gentle.nan, neitl r „f ttvr:,'
General could ever be But i,
thought that the Prefect was",, T ' ,' '"'""'
- dangerous p/r^r ^f r ^.^ ^1^

ri£rH.^f > !£W^%<&:f i^iSaSKX "JflMIBSgBSTSiWMgHWiWlllitCT '

ANGELOT

I '

Joseph's life and liberty were in his hands, at his
mercy. Angelot frowned and whistled as he
strode along. How did the Prefect find out all
that ? Why, of course, those men of his were not
mere gendarmes; they were police spies. Es-
pecially that one with the villanous face who was
lurking round the woods !

" We are all in their hands ; they are the devil's
own regiment," Angelot said to himself. " How
can Monsieur de Mauves bring himself to do
such work among his old friends, in his old
country! It is inconceivable."

Another rough lane brought Angelot into the
rough road that led past the Manor of La Mari-
niere to the church and village lying beneath it,
and so on into the valley and across the bridge
to Lancilly.

The home of his family was one of those large
homesteads, half farm, half castle, which are en-
tirely Angevin in character; and it had not yet
crumbled down into picturesque decay. Its white
walls, once capable of defence, covered a large
space on the eastern slope of the valley; it was
much shaded all about by oak, beech, and fir trees,
and a tall row of poplars bordered the road be-
tween its gateway and the church spire.

The high white arch of the gateway, where a
gate had once been, opened on a paved road
crossing the lower end of a farmyard, and up to
the right were lines of low buildings where the
cows, General Ratoneau's enemies, were now be-

sXSakj'ril*';? '«•>•' >>

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY 7^
ing safely housed for the night, and a dove-cote

IT' T J''}f ^ ''^^' J-'^te pigeons were flap-
P'ng. To the left another archway led into a
square ganlen with lines of tall box hedges, where
flowers and vegetables grew all together wildlv
and straight on, through yet a third gate. Angebt
ca,ne uUo a stone court in front of the ho'use
white, tall, and very ancient, with a quaint porch
openmg straight upon its wide staircase, which
seemed a continuation of the broad outside steps
where Madame de la Mariniere was now giving
her chickens their evening meal ^

In spite of the large cap and apron that smoth-
ered her It was plain to see where Angelot got

at me. had been the loveliest girl in Brittany.
Hr small, fine, delicate features, clear dark skin,
beautiful velvet eyes and cloud of dusky hair tha
cur^d naturally - all this still remained, though
you h and freshness and early happiness we^e
gone. Her cheeks were thin, her eyes and mouth

were sad, and yet there was hardly a grev hair
>n that soft mass which she covered and hid so
puritanically. She had been married as almost a
c uld, and was still under forty. Her family, very
olcllnit very poor, had married her to Urbain de
b Manniere, quite without consulting any wishes
of hers He was well oflf and well connected,
.hough lus old name had never belonged exacti;
to the grande noblesse. The Pontvieux were too
anxious to dispose of their daughter to consider

ANGELOT

1^'

I' I
It;

V I

i j

his free opinions, which, after all, were the fash-
ion in France before 1789, though never in Brit-
tany. And probably Madame de la Mariniere's
life was saved by her marriage, for she was and
remained just as ardently Catholic and Royalist as
her relations who died one by one upon the scaf-
fold.

She lived at La Mariniere through the Revolu-
tion, in outward obedience to a husband whose
opinions she detested,, and most of whose
actions she cordially disapproved, though it was
impossible not to love him personally. Gratitude,
too, there might very well have been; for Ur-
bain's popularity had not only guarded his wife
and son ; it had enabled her to keep the old Cure
of the village safe at La Mariniere till some little
liberty was restored to the Church and he was able
to return to his post without danger. When
madame used hard words of the Empire — and
she was frank in her judgments — monsieur
would point to the Cure with a smile. And the
old man, come back from mass to breakfast at
the manor, and resting in the chimney corner,
would say, " Not so bad — not so bad! " rubbing
his thin hands gently.

"Little mother!" Angelot said, and stepped
up into the porch among the chickens.

His eyes, quick to read her face, saw a shadow
on it, and he wondered who had done wrong,
himself or his father.

" Enfin, te voila ! " said Madame de la Mari-

HOW ANGELOT MADE AN ENEMY 73

a"m".Iad "' •' ^°" ''™"eh. us any gan,e? Ah, I

C -r . u' """™' '■" '"^ ^""-filled
tag. 'kour faiher came home two hours

ago he expected ,0 fi„„ ,,„„ „„e, „ -

IZiZ- '""" ''"''" ''' °"- '- '"e.

" I am sorry," said Angelot. " T ronlrl n^f
eave U„c.e ;o.e,^

Wl you. Some rather serious, and some will
make you d,e of laughing, as they did me."

hismXr'" ' ^"""""'^ 8'^<"o laugh." said

an^w^t,?"' •'"''" "'' ^''"''' ''""^ her hand,
and was hrow.ng the chickens their last grain
She stood on the highest step, with a little slh
wh.ch m,ght have been of fatigue or of disgmt
and her eyes, as she gazed across the vallev were
half angry, half tnelancholy. The sun had Zl

from oft" n','" "''°^"= "■"'• -■" '"e h^d
front of the Chateau de Lancilly, in full view of

La Mann.ere, looked grey and cold agai,,.. t',e

woo^s^even in the warm twilight of ^.r'^y

"Strange, that it should he inhabited aga; . r "
Angelo, had emptied the basket, and stood K.
s de h,s mother; the chickens bustled and scram-
bled about the foot of the steps.

." ^f • ^"'1 ^s I hear, by all the perfections "
a.d Madame de la Mariniere. " Herve de Sa „-

mlbrT'"r-^'*'"^>'''^--'-"™e
may De — his wife is lunrorr-i ,

vv-ic It. suprcniciy pretty and agree-

7^^

ANGELOT

Mlf

p.'

able, his younger girls are most amiable, and as
for Helene. nothing so enchantingly beautiful
has ever set foot in Anjou. Take care, my poor
Ange, I beseech you."

Angelot laughed. "Then I suppose my
father's next duty will he to find a husband for
her. I hear she is difficult — or her parents for
her, perhaps."

"Who told yoti so?"
" Monsieur de Alauves."
"What? the Prefect?"

" Yes. He sent his respectful compliments to
you. I have been spending the day at Les Chou-
ettes with him and the new General. He — oh,
mon Dieu, mon Dieu ! "

Angelot burst into a violci^t fit of laughing,
and leaned, alii )st helpless, against a pillar of the
porch.

" Are you mad? " said his mother.
" Ah — " he struggled to say — " if only you
had seen the cows — our cows — and the Gen-
eral in the air — oh ! "

A faint smile dawned in the depths of her
eyes. " You have certainly lost your senses," she
said, and slipped her hand into his arm. " Come
down into the garden : I like it in the twilight —
and that pile of stones over there will not weigh
upon our eyes; tl^e trees hide it. Come, my
Ange: tell me all your news, serious and laugh-
able. I am glad you were helping your uncle;
but I do not like you to be away all day."

mm^^

HOW ANGF.LOT MADE AN ENEMY 77

" YelThl ""' 'r''', ■'• "'"''"'■" '^"K^-""' ^"id-
les, 1 have iri,lce<l a great deal to tell you »

rhey strolle.: ,|„w„ together i„to the garden

where the v,v„, af,er-g:„w n„.he,l all the flowe";

they paced along by ,he tall box hedges. The
senotts par, of the story „.n , ,„„^, and Interest d

at whir"7 T "" '^'""•'"'' ^"""^ adventure,
at whtch Angelot co„l,l only make her smile

. ongh the telling of it sent hint off into anoX;
nt of laughter.

JhTl "°""'."' ''" ^'"""'' '° so about with
«.ch a range an.mal ! " she said. " As for you,
my child you grow more childish every day
When w,ll you be a man? Now be serious! for I
near your father coming."

TtKfiS^fflCSlKiZ^W

MICROCOPY RESOIUTION TEST CHART

(ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2)

13.2

1^6

14.0

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1.8

A /APPLIED MAGE: Inc

^^ 1653 East Main Street

S'.iS Rochester. New Vork 1*609 USA

'-^ (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone

^S ('''6) 288 - 5989 - Fok

i!:i

CHAPTER VI

now LA BELLE HiL^NE TOOK AN EVENING
WALK

Monsieur Urbain de la Mariniefe was always
amiable and indulgent. He did not reproach his
son for his long absence or ask him to give any
account of himself; not, that is, till he had talked
to his heart's content, all through the evening
meal, of the coming of the Sainfoys, their adven-
tures by the way, their impressions on arrival.

He was glad, on the whole, that he had not
organised any public reception. Herve had de-
cided against it, fearing some jarring notes which
might prejudice his wife against the place and
the country. As it was, she was fairly well
pleased. A few old people in the village had
come out of their doors to wave a welcome as the
carriages passed ; groups of children had thrown
flowers; the servants, some sent on from Paris,
others hired by Urbain in the neighbourhood, had
stood in lines at the entrance. Urbain himself had
met them at the door. The Sainfoys, very tired,
of course, after their many hours of rough driv-
ing, were delighted to find themselves at last
within the old walls, deserted twenty years ago.

AN EVENING WALK y^

Only the son, now fighting in Spain, had been
born at Lancilly; the three girls were children
of emigration, (,i a foreign land

The excellent Urbain had indeed some char-
itable work to pride himself upon. Even he him-
self hardly knew how it had all been managed : the
keeping of the chateau and its archives, the re-
covery of alienated lands, so that the spending
of money in repairing and beautifying was all
that was needed to set Lancilly in its place again
as one of the chief country houses of Anjou a
centre of society. Urbain had worked for his
cousin all tliese twenty years, quietly and perse-
veringly. To look at his happy face now. it would
seem that he had gained his heart's desire, and
that his cousin's gratitude would suffice him for
he rest of his life. His eyes were wet as he
looked at his wife and said: " There was only
one thing lacking- I knew it would be so If
only you and Joseph had gone with me to wel-
come them ! I never felt so insignificant as when
I went out alone from that doorwav to help my
cousins out of the coach. And I ^aw her look
round -Adelaide -she was surprised, I know,
to find me alone."

"Did she ask for me -or for Joseph?" said
Madame de la Mariniere, in her drv little voice

'Not at the moment — no — afterwards, of
course. She has charming manners. And she
looks so young. It is really hard to believe that
she has a son of twenty-two. My dear old Herve

ANGELOT

looks much older. His hair is grey. He has quite
left off powder ; nearly everybody has, I suppose.
I wish you had been there! But you will go to-
morrow, will you not ? "

" Whenever you please," said Madame de la
Mariniere. " In my opinion, allow me to say. it
was much better that I should not be there to-day.
You had done e\erything ; all the credit was yours.
Madame dc Sainfoy, tired and nervous, no doubt,
— what could she have done with an unsympa-
thetic old distant cousin, except wish heartily for
her absence? No, no, I did not love Adelaide
twenty years ago. I thought her worldly and am-
bitious then — what should I think her now! I
will be civil for your sake, of course, — but my
dear Urbain, what have I to do with emigrants
who have changed their flag, and have come back
false to their old convictions ? No — my place is
not at Lancilly. Nor is Joseph's — and I hardly
believe we should be welcome there."

" My dear, all this is politics! " cried Monsieur
Urbain, flourishing his hands in the air. " It is
agreed, it is our convention, yours and mine, that
we never mention politics. It m"'=* be the same
between you and our cousins. V. u.t does it mat-
ter, after all? You live under the Empire, you
obey the laws as much as they do. Why should
any of us spoil society by waving our private
opinions. It is not philosophical, really it is not."

" I did not suppose it was," she said. " I leave
philosophy to you, my dear friend."

AN EVENING WALK

She shrugged her shoulders and looked at An-
gelot, who was sitting in silence, watching his
father with the rather puzzled and qualified ad-
miration tliat he usually felt for him. This ad-
miration was not unmixed with fear, for Urbain,
so sweet and so clever, could be very stern; it
was an iron will that had carried him through
the past twenty years. Or rather, perhaps, a
will of the finest steel, a character that had a
marvellous faculty for bending without being
broken.

" And you — " said Monsieur Urbain to his
son — " you had a long day's sport with the
uncle. Did you get a good bag? "

Angelot told him. " But that was only by my-
self till breakfast time," he said. " Since then
I have been helping my uncle in other ways. I
am afraid you wanted me. monsieur, but it was an
important matter, and I could not leave him."

" Ah ! Well, the other was not a very im-
portant matter — at least, I found another mes-
senger who did as well. It was to ride to Sonnay,
to tell the coiffeur there to come to Lancilly early
to-morrow. Madame de Sainfoy's favourite maid
was ill, and stayed behind in Paris. No one else
can dress her hair. It was she herself who re-
membered the old hairdresser at Sonnay, a true
artist of the old kind. I had a strong impression
that he — well, that he died unfortunately in
those unhappy days — you understand — but she
thought he had even then a son growing up to sue-

ANGELOT

ceed him, and it seemed worth while to send to en-
quire."

Angelot smiled; his mother frowned. "I am
glad yon were not here!" she murmured under
her breath.

Later on they were sitting in the curious,
gloomy old room wiiich did duty for salon and
library at La Mariniere. Nothing here of the
simple, cheerful, though old-time grace of Les
Chouettes. Louis Quatorze chairs, with old
worked seats, stood in a solemn row on the
smooth stone Hoor; the walls were hung with
ancient tapestry, utterly out of date and out
of fashion now. A large bookcase rose from
the floor to the dark painted beams of the
ceiling, at one end of the room. It contained
many books which Madame de la Mariniere
would gladly have burnt on the broad hearth, un-
der her beautiful white stone chimney-piece it-
self out of date, old and monstrous in the eyes of
the Empire. But Madame de la Mariniere was
obliged to live with her husband's literary ad-
mirations, as well as with his political opinions,
so Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Helvetius, with
many earlier and healthier geniuses, such as Mon-
taigne, looked down in handsomely gilt bindings
from the upper shelves. High up they were:
there was a concession. In the lov/er shelves lived
Bousset, and other Catholic writers ; the modern
spirit in religion being represented by Chateau-
briand's five volumes of Le Gene du Christian-

AN EVENING WALK

f»3

tstnc and two volumes of Lcs Martyrs. Corneille
and Racine, among poets, had the'h nour of ac-
cessibility. When Monsieur Url.ai.i wanted one
of Ins own books, he had to fetch a httle ladder
from a cupboard in the hall. Angelot. from a
child, was forbidden to i.se that ladder. The pro-
hibition ,vas hardly necessary. Angel^t seldom
opened a book at all. or read for more than five
minutes at a time. He followed his uncle in this
as m so much else. The moors, the woods, the
riverside, were monsieur Joseph's library: as to
literal books, he had none but a few volumes on
sport and on military history.
_ In this old room Madame de la Mariniere would
sit all the evening long, working at her tapestry
frame; Urbain would read, sometimes aloud-
Angelot would draw, or make flies and fishing
tackle. On this special evening the little lady
sat down to her frame - she was making new
seats in cross-stitch for the old chairs against
the wall. Two candles, which lighted the room
very dimly, and a tall glass full of late roses
stood on a solid oak table close to her chair.

She n.ade a charming picture as she sat there
seemingly absorbed in her work, vet glancing up
every instant to listen to the talk of the two men
Angelot was giving his father an account of the
day's adventures, and Monsieur Urbain was as
much annoyed as his easy-going temper would
allow.

" Is he not mad and bad, that brother of mine ! "

ANGELOT

he cried. " But what was it all about ? What
were they plotting and planning, these foolish
men? Why could he not have two more places
laid at table and entertain the whole party to-
gether? That would have been the clever thing
to do. The Prefect has nothing special against
any of those gentlemen — or had not, before this.
What were they plotting, Angelot?"

Angelot knew nothing about that. He thought
their consciences were bad, from the readiness
with which ihey scuttled off into the woods. And
from things they said as they went, he thought
they and the imperial officers were best apart.
The Messieurs d' Ombre especially, from their
talk, would have been dangerous companions at
table. Pistols, prisons, a general insurrection
and so forth.

" My poor brother will be punished enough,"
said Urbain, " if he has to spend his time in Pur-
gatory with these d'Ombres."

He glanced at his wife, who did not like such
allusions as this; but she bent over her frame
and said nothing.

" Go on, tell me all," he said to his son.

Angelot told him the whole story. He was an
emotional person, with a strong sense of humour.
The Prefect's generosity brought tears into his
eyes; the General's adventure made him laugh
heartily, but he was soon grave again.

* I have not seen General Ratoneau," he said.
" But I have heard that he is a very revengeful

AN EVENING WALK 85

man, and I am sorry you should have oflfended
him, my boy."

^ "He offended me!" said Angelot. laughing.
1 tried to save him; he swore at me and would
not be saved. Then he tried to strike n^.e and I
would not be struck. A. id it was I who pulled
him out of the bushes, and a clumsy lump he was,
too. I assure you. father, the debt is on his side
not mine. One of these days he shall pay it. if
I live.

"Nonsense! forget all about it as soon as you
can. said his father. " As to his language, that
was natural to a soldier. Another time, leave a
soldier to fight his own battles, even with a herd
of cows. To run between a soldier and his
enemy ,s hke interfering between husband and
wife, or putting your hand between the bark
and the tree. Never do it again."
11/'/°" ^° "°* practise what you preach," said
Madame de la Mariniere. while Angelot looked
a little crestfallen. " I wonder who has run be-
tween more adversaries than yourself, in the
last few years ! "

"My dear friend, I never yet differed with
an imperial officer, or presumed to know better
than my superiors, even on Angevin country sub-
jects," said her husband, smiling.

"Ah!" she sighed. Her brows wrinkled up
a httle, and there was a touch of scorn in the
pretty lines of her mouth. " Ah ! A. ge and I
will never reach your philosopher's level " she
said.

ANGELOT

" I wish — I wish — " Monsieur Urbain mut-
tered, pacing up and down, " thnt Joseph would
grow a little wiser as he grows older. The Pre-
fect is excellent — if it were only the Prefect —
but the fellows who were with him — yes, it
would be disagreeable to feel that there was a
string round Joseph's neck and that the police
held the end of it. A secre.t meeting to-day — at
Joseph's house — and Joseph's and Angelot's
the only names known! "

"Ange was not at the meeting!" cried Ma-
dame de la Mariniere.

" I know — but who will believe that ? "

Angelot was a little impressed. He had very
seldom seen his father, so hopeful, so even-tem-
pered, with a cloud of anxiety on his face. The
very rarity of such uneasiness made it catching.
A sort of apprehensive chill seemed to creep from
the corners of t!i ""ark old room, steal along by
the shuttered windows, hover about the gaping
cavern of the hearth. It became an air, breathing
through the room in the motionless September
night, so that the candle-flames on madame's
table bent and flickered suddenly.

Then the dogs out in the yard began to bark.

" They are barking at the moon," said Mon-
sieur Urbain. " No, at somebody passing by."

" Somebody is coming in, father," said Angelot,
" I hear footsteps in the court — they are on the
steps — in the porch. Shall I see who it is?"

" Do, my boy."

AN EVENING WALK 87

h m Not ,|,e ,„,|,,e! " „„e the words o„ h.r

Anil, , ""'"'"'■' '"'"""" '""-"■ h"
Angelo, went out ...to the hah. and reached the

house-door jus, as somebody outside began ,0

knxk „,K,n it. He „p,„ed it. and saw .wo fig!

ures s,a„,hng in the half-,larkness: for the m<^„

the valley ,n golden light, making Lancilly's walls
and windows shine with a fairy beauty ,he
house at u Mariniere still cast a broad si adow
The figures were of a man and a woman stra^'
gers .0 Angelo, ; he, standing in theTark dt^

vT'birVf ""' ''""^' '° "'^■" ^"" only dimly
v.s.ble. The stranger lifted his hand cour eously

to h,s hat, and there was a touch of hesi,ro„

act ;? "■■''" ,™-. - if- which was ,h"
fact -he d,d not know to whom he was speak-

"Madame de la Mariniere is at home She
receives this evening? "

" Certainly, monsieur," said Angelot " One
aTdr'bo'"^, "" ''"=" " "g-'-n'ad.me-"

there^, , ,. ' T '^"^'°'- ^hake hands:
there .s Ijght enough for that," said the visitor
w.th sudden friendliness. ' Let me preLT" „
.0 my daughter Helene-your cousilTfacT"
The slender, silent girl ,vho stood by Monsieur
de Satnfoy might have been pretty or ugly -
there was no light to show - but Angelot sSLed

^:\

ANGELOT

to know by instinct at once all that he was to dis-
cover afterwards. He bowed again, and kissed
Htlent's glove, and felt a most unreasonable diz-
ziness, a wildfire rushing through his young veins ;
all this for the first time in his boyish life and from
no greater apparent cause than the sweetness of
her voice when she said, " Bonjour. mon cousin ! "

Then, before he cindd turn round, his father
was there, carrying one of the heavy candlesticks,
and all the porch was full of light and of cheerful
voices.

" I am triumphant," cried the Comte de Sain-
foy. " My wife said I could not find my way.
I felt sure I had not forgotten boyish days so
completely, and Helene wrs ready to trust her-
self to me, and glad to wait upon madame her
cousin."

" She is most welcome — you are both most

'Icome," the beaming master of the house
assured him. " Come in, dear neighbours, I beg.
What happiness ! What an end to all this weary
time! If a few things in life were different, I
could say I had nothing left to wish for."

" A few things ? Can we supply them, dear
Urbain ? " said the Comte, affectionately.

" No, Herve, no. They do not concern you,
my beloved friend. On your side all is perfec-
tion. But alas ! you are not everybody, or every-
where. Never mind ! This is a joy. an honour,
indeed, to make one forget one's troubles."

Angelot had taken the candlestick from his

I'!'-

AN EVi: XING WALK

father .m they crossed the hall. Ik carP-d t in
before the party and set it d..wn in its ph»ce. then
stepped hack into the shadow while Monsieur LV-
bani brought them in. and his mother, still pale
and a little shy or stiff in manner, went forward
to receive them.

"After twenty y ,.s - The Co.nte de Sain-
foy bowed low over i„e small hand that lay in his
thin, dehcate. if not so white and soft as a court
ladys hand. His lips touched it lightly |,,
straightened himself, and looked smiling into her
face. He h.ad always admired Anne de Potit-
vieux. He might himself have tiiought of marry-
ing her, m those last days of old France, from
which 00 great a gulf now parted them, if her
family had been richer and more before the
work' As a young man, he had been surprised
at I „un's good fortune, and slightly envious
of It.

^^ "Utterly unchanged, belle cousine!" he said
What does he mean, that discontented man by
finding his lot anything short of perfection ! Here
you have lived, you and he, in that quietest place
that exists in the very heart of the storm. Both
of you have kept your youth, your freshness, while
as lor me. wanderings and anxieties have turned
me as grey as a badger."

" Your wife is still young and beautiful, I
hear, said Madame de la Mariniere. "And
your hair, cousin, is the only thing that proves
you more than twenty. At any rate, you have

• > '■

ANGELOT

not lost a young man's genius for paying com-
pliments."

" My compliments are simple truth, as they al-
ways were, even before I lived in more plain-
spoken countries than this," said the Comte.
" And now let me ask your kindness for this little
eldest girl of mine — the eldest child that I have
here — you know Georges is with the army."

" I know," said Madame de la Mariniere.

Her look had softened, though it was still grave
and a little distant. It' was with a manner per-
fectly courteous, but not in the least affectionate,
that she drew Helene towards her and kissed her
on the cheek. " She is more like you than her
mother," she said. " I am charmed to make
your acquaintance, my dear."

Words, words ! Angelot knew his mother, and
knew that whatever pretty speeches politeness
might claim, she did not, and never could rejoice
in the return of the cousins to Lancilly. But it
amused and astonished him to notice the Comte's
manner to his mother. Did it please her? he
wondered. Gratitude to his father was right and
necessary, but did she care for these airs of past
and present devotion to herself, on the part of a
man who had outraged all her notions of loyalty ?
It began to dawn on Angelot that he knew little
of the world and its ways.

Standing in the background, he watched those
four, and a more interesting five minutes he had
never yet known. These were shadows become

■^i

AN EVENING WALK 91

real: politics, family and national, turned into
persons.

There stood his father beside the man to whose
advantage he had devoted his life; whom he had
loved as that kind of friend who sticks closer than
a brother, almost with the adoration of a faithful
dog, ever since the boys of the castle and of the
old manor played together about the woods of
J-a Manniere and Lancilly.

They were a contrast, those two. Urbain was
short and broad, with quick eyes, a clever brow a
strong, good-tempered mouth and chin. He was
ugly, and far from distinguished : Joseph had ear-
ned off the good looks and left the brains for him
Herve de Sainfoy was tall, slight, elegant; his
face was handsome, fair, and sleepy, the lower
part weak and irresolute. A beard, if fashion
had allowed it, would have become him well His
expression was amiable, his smile charming, with
a shade of conscious superiority.

But Angelot understood, when he remembered
It, the Prefect s remark that the Emperor found
Monsieur de Sainfoy " a little half-hearted "

. ^u'^TTJ"'""' '^^' '^'"^"^' ^"^^l°t ceased
to think of Monsieur de Sainfoy as the unknown
cousin, his father's friend, the master of Lancilly
he was Helene's father, and thus to be, next io
herse f. the most important personage in poor
Angelot's world. For it is not to be imagLd
that those few minutes, or even one of them
were spent in noting the contrast between the

s :

ANGELOT

cousins, or in considering the Comte's manner to
Madame de la Mariniere, and hers to him.
There in the light of the candles, curtseying to
the unknown cousin with a simple reverence, ac-
cepting her kiss with a faint smile of pleasure,
stood the loveliest woman that young Angelot
had ever seen, ever dreamed of — if his dreams
had been occupied with such matters at all!
Helene was taller than French women generally;
taller than his mother, very nearly as tall as him-
self. She was like a lily, he thought ; one of those
white lilies that grew in the broad border under
the box hedge, and with which his mother decked
the Virgin's altar, not listening at all to the poor
old Cure when he complained that the scent made
his head ache. Helene had thrown off the hooded
cloak that covered her white gown; the lovely
masses of fair hair seemed almost too heavy for
her small, oent head.

" No wonder they wanted a coiffeur! Oh, why
was I not here to fetch him ! " thought Angelot.

The beauty of whiteness of skin and perfect
regularity of feature is sometimes a little cold;
but Helene was flushed with her walk in the
warm night, her lips were scarlet; and if her
grey eyes were strangely sad and wistful, they
were also so beautiful in size, shape, and expres-
sion that Angelot felt he could gaze for ever and
desire no change.

He started and blushed when his own name
roused him from staring breathlessly at Mademoi-

AN EVENING WALK 93

selle Helene, who since the lights came had given
him one or two curious, half-veiled glances.

" And now let me congratulate vou on this fine
young man," said Monsieur de Sainfoy in his
pleasant voice. " The age of my Georges, is he
not? Yes, I rememljer his christening. His first
name was Ange — I thought it a little confiding,
you know, but no doubt it is justified. I forgot
the rest — and I do not know why you have
turned him into Angelot ? "

Madame de la Mariniere smiled; this was a
way to her heart.

"Yes. it is justified," she said proudly.
" Ange-Marie-Joseph-Urbain is his name. As to
the nickname, it is something literary. I refer
you to his father."

" It is a name to keep him true to his province "
said Monsieur Urbain. "Read Ronsard, my
friend. It was the name he gave to Henry, Due
d'Anjou. But I must fetch the book, and read
you the pretty pastoral."

" My dear friend, you must excuse me. I am
perfectly satisfied. A very good name, Angelot!
But to read or listen to that ancient poetry before
the flood — "

They all laughed. " What a wonderful man
he IS ! " said the Comte to Madame Urbain. " As
poetical as he is practical."

It all seemed pleasant trifling, then and for the
rest of the evening. The young countryman of
Ronsard's naming was rather silent and shy, and

ANGELOT

the Comte's daughter had not much to say; the
elders talked for the whole party. This, they
thought, was quite as it should be.

But the boy who had said that morning,
" Young girls are hardly companions for me,"
and had talked lightly of his father's finding a
husband for Mademoiselle de Sainfoy, lay down
that night with a girl's face reigning in his
dreams; and went so far as to tell himpelf that it
was for good or evil, for time and for eternity.

CHAPTER VII

THE SLEEP OF MADEMOISELLE MOINEAU

"We must make the best of it," said Madame
de Samfoy. To be practical is the great thing
1 know you agree with me."

She had a dazzhng smile, utterly without sweet-
ness. Madame de la Mariniere said it was like
the flashmg of sunbeams on ice; but it had a

Urbain '"'''' ""''""'"^ ^""^ '"'^'""^ ^^^' «"
"It is one of the few consolations in life " he
said, to meet with supreme good sense' like
yours.

They were standing together in one of the deeo
windows of the Chateau de Lancilly; a window
which looked out to the garden front towards the
valley and La Mariniere. A deep dry moat sur-
rounded the great .e on all sides; here
as on the other front, u ..re there were wings and
a courtyard, it was approached by a stiff avenue
a terrace, and a bridge. But this ancient and
gloomy state of things could not be allowed to
continue. An army of peasants was hard at work
filling up the moat, laying out winding paths in
tne park, making preparations for the " English

Iff

ANGELOT

garden " of a thousand meaningless twists lead-
ing to nowhere, whicli was the Empire's idea of
beauty. Monsieur and Madame de Sainfoy would
have no rest till their stately old chateau was
framed in this kind of landscape gardening, ut-
terly out of character vith it. It was only Mon-
sieur Urbain's experience which had saved trees
from being out down in full leaf, to let in points
of view, and had delayed the planting in hot Sep-
tember weather of a whole forest of shrubs on the
slopmg bank, where the moat had once been.

The interior of the house, too, was undergoing
a great reformation. Madame de Sainfoy had
sent down a quantity of modern furniture from
Paris, the arrangement of which had cans- 1 the
worthy Urbain a good deal of perplexity. He
had prided himself on preserving many ancient
splendours of Louis XIV. XV, XVI. not from
any love for these relics of a former society, but
because good taste and sentiment alike showed
him how entirely they belonged to these old
rooms and halls, where the ponderous, carved
chimney-pieces rose from floor ^■. painted ceiling,
blazoned with arms which not even the Revolu-
tion had cut away. But Madame de Sainfoy's
idea was to sweep everything off : the tapestries,
which she considered grotesque and hideous,
from the walls; the rows of solemn old chairs
and sofas, the large screens and heavy oak tables,
the iron dugs from the fireplace, on which so
many winter logs had flamed and died down into a

THE SLEEP OF MADEMOISELLE 97

heap of grey aslies. AH must go. and the old
saloon must be niade into a modern drawing-
room of the Empire.

Madame de la Mariniere. being old-fashioned
and prejudiced, resented these changes, which
seemed to her both monstrous and ungrateful
She was angry with her husband for the angelic
patience with whicli he bore them, throwing him-
self with undimmed enthusiasm into the carrying
out of every wish, every new-fangled fancy, that
Herve and Adelaide de Sainfoy had brought
from Paris with them. If he was disappointed at
the bundling off into garret and cellar of so much
of Lancilly's old and hardly-kept glory, he only
showed It by a shrug and a smile.

" If one does not know, one must be content
to leirn," he said. " A modern fish wants a mod-
ern shell, my dear Anne. I may have been foolish
to forget It. The atmosphere that you enjoy gives
Adelaide the blue^. Come, I will quote Scripture.
New wine mu?^ be put into new bottles.' "
" Then, on . > wnole, it was a pity Lancilly
was not burnt clown." said his wife.

" Ah, Lancilly! Lancilly will see a few more
fashions yet," he said.

And now he stood, quite happy and serene in
the cold sunshine of Adelaide's smile, and 'to-
gether they watched tlie earthworks rising out-
side, and he agreed with her as to the necessity of
being modem in everything, of marching with
one's time, regretting nothing, using the present

^mii£^^

ANGELOT

and making the bes: of .... She was utterly ma-
terialist and baldly practical. Her manners were
frank and simple, slie had sufifered, she had studied
the world and knew it, and used it without a
scruple for her own advantage. The time and
the court of Napoleon knew such v/omen well:
they had the fearless dignity of high rank, holding
their own, in spite of all the Emperor's vulgarity;
and the losses and struggles of their lives had
given them a hard eye for the main chance,
scarcely to be i.iatched by any bourgeois shop-
keeper. And with all this they had a real admi-
ration for military glory. Success, in fact, was
their God and their King.

Far down below in the park, within sight of the
windows. Monsieur de Sainfoy was strolling
about, watching the workmen, and talking to
them with the pleasant grace which always made
him popular. With him was young Angelot, who
had walked across with his father on that and
several other mornings. It seemed as if Uncle
Joseph and Les Chouettes had lost a little of their
attraction, since Lancilly was inhabited. Angelot
brought his gun, and Cousin Herve, when he had
time and energy, took his, and they had an hour or
two's sport round about the woods and marshes
and meadows of Lancilly. Once or twice Mon-
sieur de Sainfoy brought the young man in to
breakfast ; his father was often there, in attend-
ance on the Comtesse and her alterations. She
took very little notice of Angelot, beyond a smile

THE SLEEP OF MADEMOISELLE 99

when he kissed her hand. He was of no particu-
lar use, and did not interest her ; she was not
fond of hjs mother, and thought him like her- it
was not worth while to be kind to him for the
sake of his father, whose dt motion did not de-
pend, she knew, on any such attentions.

Angelot was rather awed by her coldness,
though he said nothing about it, even to his
mother. And after all. he did not go to Lancilly
to be entertained by M.lame de Sainfoy He
went for the sake of a look, a possible word, or
even a distant sight of the girl whose lovely face
and sad eyes troubled him sleeoing and waking
whose presence drew him with strong cords across
the valley and made the smallest excuse a good
reason for following his father to Lancilly. But
he never spoke to Helene. except formally and in
public, till that day when he lingered about with
his cousin in the park, watching the men as they
dug the paths for the English garden, while
Madame de Sainfoy and Monsieur Urbain talked
good sense high up in the window.

Presently two figures approached the new gar-
den, crossing the park from the old avenue, and
Monsieur de Sainfoy went to meet them with an
air of cordial v/elcome.

"Who are those people?" said the Comtesse
putting up her eyeglass.

''It is my brother Joseph and his little daugh-
ter, Lrbam answered. " He has his gun, I see as
usual I suppose he was shooting in this direc-
tion.

ICXJ

ANGELOT

" Does he take the child out shooting with
him? He is certainly very eccentric."

Urbain shrupged his shoulders. " Poor dear
Jose^'h! A little, perhaps. Yes, he is unlike
other jieople. To tell you the truth. I am only too
glad when his odd fancies six;nd themselves on
the management of Henriette."

" Or mis-management ! He will ruin the
child. He brought !.er here the other day, and
she appeared to me quite savage."

" Really, madame ! Poor Henriette ! She is a
sociable child and clever, too. My wife and An-
gelot are very fond of her. I think she nmst have
been shy in your presence."

" Oh, not at all. She talked to Herve like a
grown-up woman. I was amused. When I
say * savage,' I mean that she had evidently been
in no society, and had not the faintest idea how
a young person of her age is expected to behave.
She was fai more at her ease than Helene, for in-
stance."

" Ah, dear m.adame! there is something pleas-
ing, is there not, in such a frank trust in human
nature! The child is very like her father."

" Those manners may be pretty in a child of
six," said Madame de Sainfoy, "but they are
quite out of place in a girl of her age — how old
is she? "

" I don't exactly know. Twelve or thirteen, I
think."

" Then mere is still some hope for her. She

THE SLEEP OF MADEMOISELLE loi

may be polislied into shaiw. I shall sujjj,^cst to
your brother that she come hcrr every day to take
lessons with Sophia and Lucie. I dare say she
is very ignorant."

" I atn afraid she is. What a charniinp idea!
How like your kindness! My brother will cer-
tainly accept your offer with enthusiasm. I shall
insist upon it."

" He will, if he is a wise man," said Madame
de Sainfoy. They both latir,died: evidently the
wisdom of Monsieur Joseph was not proverbial
in the family. " Mademoiselle Moineau is an ex-
cellent governess, though she is growing old,"
she went on. " I have known her make rivilised
women out of the most unpromising material. !
shall tell your brother that I consider it settled.
It will be good for Sophie and Lucie, too, to have
the stimulus of a companion."

" You are not afraid that — You know my
brother's very strong opinions? "

" Do you think a child of twelve is lively to
make ci nverts? " she said, with an amused smile.
" No. cousin. The influence will be the other
way, but your brother will not be foolish enough,
I hope, to consider that a danger."

Urbain shook his head gently: he would an-
swer for nothing. He murmured. " A charming
plan! The best thing that could happen to the
child."

" A pity, too," said Madame de Sainfoy, look-
ing out of the window, " that she should grow

^.isr.

102

ANGELOT

up witlKJUt any young companions but your son.
Where are they js'oing now ? "

** I don't know," said Urbain.

For a moment they watched silently, while An-
gelot andilenriette left tlie others in the garden,
and walked away togetlier. turning towards the
chateau, and then disappearing behind a clump
of trees.

" I know," said the Comtesse. " I told Herve
something of this plan of mine, and he approved
highly : he has an old family affection for your
brother. He »s sending the young people to find
Sophie and Liicie; they are out walking in the
wood with Mademoiselle — Helene is reading
Italian in her own room."

She seemed to add this as an after-thought, and
the faintest smile curled Monsieur Urbain's lips
as he heard her. " No danger, dear Comtesse,"
he felt inclined to say. '* My boy's heart is in the
woods and fields — and he is discreet, too. You
might even trust him for five minutes with that
beautiful, silent girl of yours."

Had Madame de Sainfoy made some miscalcu-
lation as to her daughter's hours of study? or
was it Helene's own mistake? or had the sun-
shine and the waving woods, the barking of dogs,
the chattering of workmen, all tlie flood of new
life outside old Lancilly, made it impossible to sit
reading in a chilly, thick-walled room and tempted
the girl inesistibly to break her mother's strict
rules. However it may have happened — when

THE Sl.rvF.P OF MADEMOISF.I.I.F. ,oj

the w.«,d bcv,,,,,, ,„e cl,a,«,u ,Jy „„„„

i>..plue an,l tall Lucie ami their fa. lii.le „,„!
crness, b„. \Ia,lc,„„iselle llclc-ne herself, were
f^mnd « ,ler,„n alony the .suf, path, through
'he ghmnter,,,,- ,„a.e uf green ,licke.l „i,l, J,i
S„|,h,e an,l Lude were g.,.Kl-na.ure.l girl,, en-
ciian e,l t„ see the „ew little cusiu. rhev' ad-
m.re<l her dark eye., the .lelica.e sn.alluess^f her
frame, a coutrast with their „-.v„ „,„re soli.l
fa.r,,es,. r„ their fatuil,, ,K,|,„, ,,,,„ ,,,^„ _.

the heauty; there was not much left f„r ,l,e,„
bu they were hones, girls and knew how to aU
m.re. R,e..e ,„, her side, un.roublcl with any

the facts .hat her dress was „ld-fasl,ione<l an,! her
edMcatton tnore than defective, was delight^l .o

srz '^"rr''""'"" """ "- «» ^.usins.

k,»w T , "' " •'"""""'' "-'"S' "-y did no.

the w,„ ■; '''^"; """' ^"'"'y "^''l'. the woods,
tne walled gardens and cour.s, even .he s.air
cases and galleries of .he house -all was Z,
am, ar to her than .o .hen,. She and Ingd"
ha<l found Lancilly a splendi,l playground, ever
^mce she was old enough .o walk so far,- .hjy^a"
sp^. many happy hours .here in digging ouTrl'

c Itud"^,,"''' .""^'''.-"-""ff- playing cache-
cache, and o.her charming emplovmen.s She

en arge on .hese in the as.onishe'd ears ofsopW

a:i, dhn:CL':';r ,"■"" ^-'^ ""'^«'

puiiin^ tnem on with a dancing step, while

104

ANGELOT

r^l

1 H-'

; J ,.

I I

they listened, fascinated, to the gay little spirit
who led them wliere she pleased. It did not seem
so certain, to look at the three young girls, that
Ma... me de Sainfoy was right as to influence.
But no political talk, no party secrets, escaped
from the loyal lips of Riette. A word of warning
from Angelot — a word which her father would
not have dreamed of saying — had closed her
mouth on subjects such as these. She could be
friendly with her cousins, yet true to her
father's friends.

" Let us go to the great garden," she said.
" Have you seen the sundial, and the fish-ponds ?
You don't know the way ? Ah, my dear children,
but what discoveries you are going to make! "

" Sophie — Lucie — where are

you gomg 1

Come back, come back ! " cried Mademoiselle
Moineau, who was pacing slowly behind with
Angelot and Helene.

But Sophie and Lucie could not stop if they
wished it; an impetuous little whirlwind was
carrying them along.

" To the garden — to the garden ! " they called
out as they fled. Mademoiselle Moineau was dis-
tracted. She was fat, she was no longer young;
she could not race after the rebellious children;
and even if she could, it was impossible to leave
Helene and Angelot alone in the wood.

" Where are they going? " she said helplessly
to the young man.

He explained amiably that they were perfectly

THE SLEEP OF MAi^EMOISELLE 105

safe with his little cousin, who knew every corner
of the place, and while Mademoiselle Moineau
groaned, and begged that he would sIkhv her the
way to the garden, he ventured a look and smile
at Helene. A sudden brightness came into her
face, and siie laughed softly. " Ilenriette might
be your little sister," she said. " You are all
alike. I think — at least monsieur your uncle,
and madame your mother, and Henriette, and
you — "

" Yes — I've often thought Uncle Joseph ought
to be my mother's brother, not my father's," said
Angelot.

He dared not trust himself to look verv hard at
Helene. He kept his lightness of tone and man-
ner, the friendly ease which was natural to him
though his pulses were beating hard from her
nearness, and though her gentle air of intimacy
gave him almost a pang of passionate joy. How
sweet she was, how simple, when for a moment
she forgot the mysterious sadness which seemed
sometimes to veil her whole nature! Angelot
knew that she liked and trusted him, the strange
young country cousin who looked younger than
he was. She thought him a friendlv bov. perhaps
Her eyes, when she looked at him. seemed to smile
divinely; they were no longer doubtful and ques-
tioning, as at first. He longed to kneel down on
the pine-needles and kiss the hem of her gown •
he longed, he, the careless sportsman, the philos-
opher's son, to lay his life at her feet, to do what

-ti"!

.>'

Ajk-

io6

ANGELOT

she pleased with. But Mademoiselle Moineau
was there.

They walked on in the vast old precincts of
Lancilly, following the children. It was all deep
shade, with occasional patches of sunshine ; great
forest trees, wide-spreading, stretched their arms
across sandy tracks, once roads, that wandered
away at the back of the chateau : through the
leaves they could see mountains of grey moss-
stained roof and the peaked top )f the old colom-
hier. All the yard? -^nd buildings were now be-
tween them and t. house itself. Along by a
crumbling wall, once white, and roofed with tiles,
they came to the broken-down gate of the garden.
It was not much better than a wilderness; yet
there were loaded fruit-trees, peaches, plums, figs,
vines weighed down with masses of small sweet
grapes, against the ancient trellis of the wall.
Everywhere a forest of weeds; the once regular
paths covered with burnt grass and stones and
rubbish ; the fountain choked and dry.

Mademoiselle Moineau groaned many times as
she hobbled along; the walking was rough, the
way seemed endless, and the garden, when they
reached it, a sun-baked desert. Angelot guided
them to the very miudle, where the old sun-dial
was, and while he showed it to Helene, the little
governess sat down on a stone bench that encircled
a large mulberry tree, the only shady place
in the garden. They could hear the children's
voices not far off. Helene sat down near Made-

IHiiEkpr

'*:

THE SLEEP OF MADEMOISELLE 107

moiselle Moineau. Angelot went away and
came back with a leaf filled with fruit, to which
Helene helped herself with a smile. As he was
going to hand it to Mademoiselle Moineau, she
put out a hand to stop him.

" She is asleep," she whispered.
It was true. The warmth, the fatigue, the sud-
den rest and silence, had been too much for the
little lady, who was growing old. Her eyes were
shut, her hands were folded, her chin had sunk
upon her chest; and even as Angelot stared in
unbelieving joy, a distinct snore set Helene sud-
denly laughing.

"I must wake her," she said softly. "We
must go, we must find the children."

" Oh no, no! " he murmured. " Let the poor
thing rest — see how tired she is ! The children
are safe — you can hear them. Do not be so cruel
to her — and to me."

"/ cruel?" said Helene; and she added half

to herself — "No — other people are cruel

not L"

Angelot did not understand her. She looked up
at him rather dreamily, as he stood before her.
Perhaps the gulf of impossibility between them
kept her, brought up and strictly sheltered as
she had been, from realising the meaning of the
young man's face. It was very grave; Angelot
had never before felt so utterly in earnest. His
eyes were no longer sleepy, for all the strength
of his nature, the new passion that possessed

•VK^Mf^Vjl^^

"^ »2^fe"^^'%i*>'*E??V^^

io8

ANGELOT

him, was shining in them. It was a beautiful,
daring face, so attractive that Helene gazed for
a speechless moment or two before she understood
that the beauty and life and daring were all for
her. Then the pale girl flushed a little and
dropped her eyes. She had had compliments
enough in Paris, had been told of her loveliness,
but never with silent speech such as this. This
conquest, though only of a young cousin, had
something different, something new. Helene,
hopeless and tin ' it nineteen, confessed to her-
self that this An^^elot was adorable. With a sort
of desperation she gave herself up to the moment's
enjoyment, and said no more about waking Made-
moiselle Moineau, who snored on peacefully, or
about finding the children. She allowed Angelot
to sit down on her other side, and listened to him
with a sweet surprise as he murmured in her ear

— "Who is cruel, then, tell me! No, you are
not, you are an angel — but who are you think-
ing of?"

"No one in particular, I suppose," the girl
answered. " Life itself is cruel — cruel and sad.
You do not find it so ? "

" Life seems to me the most glorious happiness

— at this moment, certainly."

" Ah, you must not say those things. Let us
wake Mademoiselle Moineau."

" No," Angelot said. " Not till you have told
me why you find life sad."

"Because I do not see anythir 'ght in it.

-■W.-- X '.""S ■■"t**'*'"'

p^l?

k***.-':

V a

SUDDENLY HIS SLIGHT RROWN HANDS CLOSED ON HERS

:.>=<f:-^Viw;i;i .^sa:v.

THE SLEEP OF MADEMOISELLE 109

Books tell one that youth is so happy, so gay -
and as for nie. ever since I was a child. I have
had nothnig but weariness. AH that travellinir
about, that hanislnnent from one's own country
-iH tempers, discontent, narrow ways, hard
lessons - straps and backboards because I was
not strong -loneliness, not a friend of my own
age -and then this horrible Paris -and things
that might have happened there, if my father had
not saved me - " She stopped, with a little catch
in her breath, and Angelot understoo<l, rer -m-
bermg the Prefect's talk at Les Chouettes, a few
days before.

This was the girl they talked of sacrificing in a
political marriage.

"But now that you are here -now that you
have come home, you will be happy?" he said
and his voice shook a little.

"Perhaps -I hope so. Oh, you must not
take me too much in earnest," Helene said, and
there was an almost imploring look in her eyes
She added quickly-"! hope I shall often see
madame your mother. What a beautiful face
she has - and I am sure she is good and happy."
This was a fine subject for Angelot. He talked
of his mother, her religion, her charity, her
heroism, while Helene listened and asked childish
questions about the life at La Mariniere to
which her evening visit had attracted her
strangely. And the minutes flew on, and these
two cousins forgot the outside world and all its

■1| di

■-■ I.
I: i

IIO

ANGELOT

considerations In each other's eyes, and the shad-
ows lengthened, till at last the children's voices
began to come nearer. Mademoiselle Moineau
snored on, it is true, but the enchanting time
was coming to an end.

" Kemember," Angelot said, " nothing sad or
cruel can happen to you any more. You are in
your own country ; your own people will take
care of you and love you — we are relations, re-
member — my father and mother and my uncle
and Riette — and I, Helene!"

He ended in the lowest whisper, and suddenly
his slight brown hands closed on hers, and his
dark face bent over her.

" Never — never be sad again ! I adore you —
my sweet, my beautiful — "

Very softly their lips met. Helene, entirely
carried out of herself, let him hold her for a
moment in his arms, then started up with flaming
cheeks in consternation, and began to hurry
towards the gate.

At the same moment the three young girls came
down the path towards the sun-dial, and Made-
moiselle Moineau, waking with a violent start,
got up and hobbled stiffly forward into the sun-
shine.

"Where are you, my children?" she cried.
" Sophie, Lucie, it is quite time to go back to your
lessons — see, your sister is gone already. Say
good-by to your cousins, my dears — "

" We may all go back to the chateau together,

'wsa>'^ia^asm'^'^»iSi^miWi^jiSm-iS'^mss.-'

•sajta''ji:'

.7.. '>' 'WBisf«r^;2?inmt

THE SLEEP OF MADEMOISELLE iii

madame, may we not?" said Angelut with
dancing eyes, and he hurried the children on, all
chattering of the wonderful corners and treasures
that Henriette had shown them.

But Mademoiselle Helcne Hew before like the
wind, and was not t<j he overtaken.

In the meanwhile. Madame de Sainfoy con-
sulted Cousin Urbain about her new silk' hang-
ings for the large drawing-room, and also as to
a list of names for a dinner, at which the chief
guests were to be the Baron de Mauves. the Pre-
fect of the Department, and Monsieur le General
Ratoneau, commanding the troops in that western
district.

" And I suppose it is necessary to invite all
these excellent cousins?" Madame de Sainfoy
asked her husband that evening, when the cousins
were gone.

" Entirely necessary, my dear Adelaide ! "

«j.

■-.'. L-

CHAPTER VIII

I :

HOW MONSIEUR JOSEPH MET WITH MANY
ANNOYANCES

Dark clouds were hang^ing over Les Chouettes.
In the afternoon there had l)een a thunderstoim,
with heavy rain which liad refieshed the burnt
slopes and filled the stream that wound through
the meadows under the lines of poplars and wil-
lows, and set great orange slugs crawling among
the wet grass. The storm had passed, but the air
was heavy, electric, and still. The sun had set
gloriously, wildly, like a great fire behind the
woods, and nov/ aV. the eastern sky was flaming
red. as if from a still n^ore tremendous fire some-
where beyond the moors and hills.

Two men were sitting on a bench under Mon-
sieur Joseph's south wall; himself and white-
haired Joubard. the farmer; before them was a
table with bottles and glasses. Joubard had been
trying a wine that rivalled his own. Monsieur
Joseph had entertained him very kindly, as his
way was ; but the shadow of the evening rested
on Monsieur Joseph's face. He was melancholy
and abstracted ; he frowned ; he even ground his
teeth with restrained irritation. Joubard too

^fi-^-.}A.^'--^' •■'.,■■^^t^^^.A1^

MAxXY AXXOYAXCES ,13

lo.)ke.l grave. He had brought a warni.ig ,vhich
liacl been lightly taken, he thought; yet looking
SKlevvays at M<.nsic„r Joseph, he could not help
seenig that sonietiiing. possibly his words was
weiglnng on the little gentleman. There were
plenty of other thii ^s to talk about; the farm
the vmtage. the war in Spain, the chances of Mar-
tm s^ return, the works at Lancillv. Monsieur
Joseph and Joubard were both talkers; they were
capable of chattering for hours abr.ut nothing-
but tins evening conversation flagged, at least on
Monsieur Joseph's side. Perhaps it was the
weather.

At last the old man was ready to go. He stood
up, staring hard at Monsieur Joseph in the twi-
light.

" Monsieur forgives me? " he said. " Perhaps
I should have said nothing; the police have tlieir
ways. They may ask questions without malice
And yet one feels the difference between an hon-
est man and a spy. W'eH, r could have laughed,
If I did not hate the fellow. As if the talk of a
few honest gentlemen could hurt the State!"

"Some day I hope it will." said Monsieur
Joseph, coolly. " When the rising comes. Jou-
bard. you will be on the right side — if only to
avenge your sons, my good man ! "

Joubard opened his eyes wider, hesitated,
pushed his fingers through his bushy hair.

" Me. monsieur ! The rising ! But. monsieur
I never said I was a Chouan ! I am afraid of

114

ANGELOT

some of them, though not of you, monsienr.
They are people who can be dangerous. A ris-
ing, you said ! Then — "

*' Don't talk of it now," said A Monsieur Joseph,
impatiently.

As he sf>oke, Httle Ilenriette came round the
corner of the house with some bkie feathers in
her hand. Tobie had been out shooting, making
havoc among the wild birds, large and small, and
sparing the squirrels, with regret, to please his
master. Owls, kites, rooks, magpies, jay.s,
thrushes, finches; those that were eatable went
into pies, and the prettiest feathers were dressed
and made into plumes for Mademoiselle Hen-
riette. She was fond of adorning her straw
bonn''*^ with lav's feathers, which, as her uncle
Urbani remarked, gave her the appeal ancc of one
of Monsieur de Chateaubriand's squaws. " See,
papa, what Tobie has brought me," she cried.
" Good evening. Maitre Joubard ! How are
your chickens? and when will the vintage
begin?"

Joubard would gladly have entered on a
lengthy gossip with Mademoiselle Henriette. but
Monsieur Joseph, with a shortness very unlike
him. brought the interview to an end.

" You must not keep Maitre Joubard now," he
said. " It is late, and he must get back to the
farm. Bonsoir, Joubard."

The farmer waved his large hat. " Bonsoir,
la compagnie ! " and with a smile departed.

..::'v-"A

.^ll

MANY ANNOYANCES

As he passed the stables, Tohie, still carrying
his gun, slipped (»ut and joiner! hitn.

" Anythiiij^r wronj,' witli the master. Tobie?"
said the Did man. curiously. " His tongue has an
edge to it this evening: he is not like himself."

" I think I know." said Tobie, and they strolled
together up ihe lane.

" Go to bed, my child," said Monsieur Joseph
to his little daughter. " It is too damp now for
you to be out-of-doors. Yes, very pretty feathers.
Good night, mon petit chou ! "

Riette flung herself ui)on him and hugged him
like a young bear.

" Ah," he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak.
" and is this the way to behave to one's respected
father? Do you suppose, now, that Mesdemoi-
selles de Sainfoy crush their parents to death
like this?"

" I dare say not." said Riette. with another hug
and a shower of kisses. " But their parents are
grand people. They have not a little bijou of a
papa like mine. And as for their mamma, she is a
cardboard sort of woman."

" All that does not matter. Manners should be
the same, whether people are tall or short, great
or humble. You know nothing about it. my poor
Riette."

" Nor do you ! "

" It is becoming plain to me that you must be
sent to learn maimers."

"Where?"

E '

* .•

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iMf

I'M I

U I

ii6

ANGELOT

" Go to bed at once. I must think about it.
There, child — enough — I am tired this ever
ing-

"Ah, you have had so many visitors tc ddy,
and that old Joubard is a chatterbox."

" And he is not the only one in the world. Go
— do you hear me ? "

The child went. He heard her light feet scam-
pering upstairs, clattering merrily about on the
boards overhead. He sat very still. The glow
in the east deepened, spreading a lurid glory over
the dark velvety stillness of the woods. Crickets
sang and curlews cried in the meadow, and the
long ghostly hoot of an owl trembled throuj^h the
motionless air. Joseph de la Mariniere leaned
his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his
hands, and gazed up thus into the wild autumnal
sky.

" What would become of her ! " he said to him-
self.

He was not long alone. Angelot and his dog
came lightly up through the shadows, and while
the dog strayed off to join his favourites among
the dark guards who lay round the house, the
young nan sat down beside his uncle.

Though with a mind full of his own matters,
Angelot was sympathetic enough to feel and to
wonder at the little uncle's depression. After a
word or two on indifferent things — the storm,
the marvellous sky — he said to him, " Has any-
thing happened to worry you ? "

-ftMfc.-^

MANY ANx\OYANCES 117

Monsieur Joseph did not answer at once, and
this was very unhke him.

".It is the thunder, perhaps?" said Angelot,
cheerfully. "A tree was struck near us. M^
mother is spending the evening in church."

" And your father ? "

"^ He is at Lancilly, playing boston."

" Why are you not with him? "

"Why should I be? I-l prefer a talk with
my dear uncle."

"Ah! you ask if anything worries me, Ange-
lot. Three or four things. First - I had a visit
this morning from Cesar d'Ombre. He had his
breakfast in peace this time, poor fellow."

Angelot smiled, rather absently. *' W^hat had
he to say ? "

"Nothing special. The time is not quite ripe
~ I think they realised that the other day."

" I hope so," murmured Angelot.

" Hope what you please." said his uncle, with
sudden irritation. " The time will come in spite
of you all, remember. I. for one, shall not long
be able to endure this abominable system of snv-
ing." ^-

" What do you mean? " said Angelot, starin-
at him. ''^

" This is what r mean. The instant d'Ombre
was gone — while he was here, in fact — that
fellow, the Prefect's jackal, was prowling round
the stables and asking questions of Tobie. Some
silly excuse — pretended he had lost a strap the

!f|

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SL-:

ii8

ANGELOT

other day. Asked which of my friends was here
— asked if they often came, if they were gener-
ally expec -"'.i. Suggested that Les Chouettes was
well provided with hiding-places, as well for arms
as for men. I don't think he made much out of
Tobie ; he is as solid as an old oak, with a spark
of wit in the middle of his thick head. From
his own account, he very nearly kicked him off
the premises."

" What ? that man Simon ? I don't like him
either, but was it not a little dangerous to treat
him so? He is more than a gendarme, I think;
he is an agent de police."

" I don't care what he is, nor does Tobie. He
had better come to me with his impertinent ques-
tions. And I am angry with De MauvCL up-
pose the rascal would not prowl abc re
without his orders. Of course it was he who
found out everything the other day. I did not
notice or know him at the time, but the servants
tell me he is, as you say, a well-known police spy.
Well, after what De Mauves said to you, I should
have expected him to leave me in peace. I would
rather have one thing or the other — b? arrested
or let alone. I say, this spying system is ungen-
tlemanly. ungenerous, and utterly contemptible
and abominable."

Monsieur Joseph rapped hard on the table, then
took a pinch of snuff with much energy, folded
his arms, and looked fiercely into Angelot's down-
cast face.

■i a

M\mriim^

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MANY ANNOYANCES

119

" I can hardly think the Prefect sent him," the
young man said.

" Why should he act without his master's or-
ders ? In any case I shall have it out with De
Mauves. Well. well, other annoyances followed
and I had half forgotten the rascal, your father
b'^ing here, and the rain coming in at the roof
and runnmg down the stairs, when behold Jou-
bard, to tell me the story over again ! "
" What story ? "

" Mille tonnerres! Angelot, you are very dull
to-day. Why. the Simon story, of course. The
fello . ■ paid Joubard a visit on his way to us it
seems, and asked a thousand questions about ine
and my concerns — what visitors of mine passed
La Joubardiere on their way here, and so forth
He tned to make it all appear friendly gossip
so as to put Joubard off his guard, though knovv-
mg very well that the old man knew who he
was."

^"Does Joubard think the Prefect sent him?"
" I did not consult Joubard on that point,"
said Monsieur Joseph with dignity. " That is
between De Mauves and myself."

" Oh, mv little uncle," Angelot said with a
low laugh, " you are a very ge.a among con-
spirators."

" None of you take me in earnest, I know,"
said Monsieur Joseph, and he smiled for the first
time " Your father scolds me, Joubard does not
naif believe in me, Riette takes liberties with me

mm^-^^m^im; mijism^'^

1 20

ANGELOT

you laush at me. It is only that scoundrel of a
Prefect who thinks me wortli watchinj^."

" I don't heheve he does," said Angclot.

" Then ])ray tell me, what brought that pohce
rascal here to-day? "

" Some devilry of his own. Don't you know.
Uncle Joseph, these fellows gain credit, and
money too, by hunting out cases of disl(\valty to
the Empire. It is dirty work; officials like the
Prefect do not ahvays care to soil their hands
with it I have heard my father tell of cases
where whole families were put in prison, just on
the evidence of some police spy who wormed him-
self into their confidence and informed against
them."

Monsieur Joseph sat in silence for a minute.

" Peste! France is not fit to live in." he said.
" To change the subject — your excellent father
proposed to-day that I should send Riette every
morning to Lancilly. to learn lessons with Mes-
demoiselles de Sainfoy. It seems that Madame de
Sainfoy herself proposed this obliging plan. The
governess, it seems, is a jewel of the first water.
Is that the lady I saw with the children the other
day?"

"Yes; Mademoiselle Moineau."

Angelot's breath came a little short; his heart
seemed to beat unreasonably in his throat. How
could he express with sufficient restraint his
opinion of that sleepy old angel, Mademoiselle
Moineau !

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MANY AXXOYANCES

121

He feit himself coloiirinjr crimson; hut it was
Srrovving dark, the g.^rgfeous sunset had faded,
the clouds hunpf hlacker and heavier as tlie op
pressive nij;ht closed in.

" Xvo douht a charniino: lady and a very good
woman." said Monsieur Joseph, with his usual
politeness, " hut she has not the air of a genius.
In any case, even if I saw anv advantage for
Riette in the plan, which I do not, I am too'selfish
to consent to it. Well, well. I have other rea-
sons; I will tell them to vour mother one of
these days. I am sorry Madame de Sainfoy
shoidd have thought of it. as it seems ungracious
to refuse, .-.it I was miserahle enough without
Riette last year, when she spent those weeks at
the Convent at Sonnay. By the bv. the good
nuns did not find her so ignorant. She knows
her religion, she can dance and sing, she can
make clothes for the poor, she understands the
animals, and has read a little history. Pray what
more does a girl want ? "

Nothing, I dare say," said Angelot, dreamily.
" I did not think you would like it."
^^ "I do not like it." said Monsieur Joseph.
" Your father was astonished when T told him
so. We did not discuss it long; the storm inter-
rupted us. But how could I let my child be
brought up in a household devoted to the Em-
pire! It is unreasonable."

Angelot started suddenly to his feet,
"Are you going? It will rain again soon,"
said Monsieur Joseph.

P^Mm^

122

ANGELOT

i: I:

" No, I am not going yet," said Angelot,
He marched up and down two or three times
in front of the bench.

" Uncle Joseph," he burst out, " I have some-
thing to say to you. I came here to-night on
purpose to consult you. You can help me, I
think, if anybody can."

" What, what ? Are they sending you into the
army ? " Monsieur Joseph was all interest, all
affection. His own annoyances were forgotten.
He started up too, standing in his most inspired
attitude, with a sweet smile on his face, " De-
clare yourself, my boy ! " he said. " Yes, I will
stand by you. You cannot fight for that blood-
thirsty wretch. Escape, dearest, if there is noth-
ing else for it. Go and join the Princes. Your
mother will agree with me. I will lend you
money for the journey."

" Ah, a thousand thanks. Uncle Joseph ! " cried
the young man. " But no, it is not that at all."
He lowered his voice suddenly. " I want to
marry," he said.

"To marry! Angelot! You! In heaven's
name, why ? "

" Because I am in love."

" What a reason ! "

Monsieur Joseph sat down again.

" This is seriou-s" he said. " Sit down beside
me on the bench, and tell me all about it. It
sounds like madness, and I always thought you
were a reasonable boy."

if !

fmmkl^0:S

MANY ANNOYANCES 123

" It is madness in one way, I suppose," said
Angelot. " And yet stranger things have hap-
pened. In fact, of course, nothing else could
happen.

Monsieur Josei)h frowned and stared His
quick brain was running round the neighbour-
nood and finding n.body ; then it made an excur-
sion at lightning speed into the wilds of Brittany
where Angelot had sometimes visited his
mother's relations; but there again, as far as he
knew, no likely matc>. nas to be found. He was
sure that Urbain and Anne had not yet taken any
steps to find a wife for Angelot; he also thought
It was a subject on which they were likely to dis-
agree. And now the young rascal had hit on
somebody for himself. Might Heaven forbid
that he had followed modern theories and was
ready to marry some woman of a rank in-
ferior to his own — some good-for-nothing who

had attracted the handsome, simple-hearted

boy ! *

"No! He would not dare to tell me that"
Mon.sieur Joseph said to himself, and added
aloud. " Who is the lady ? "

There was a touch of severity in his tone- a
foretaste, even from the dear little uncle, of what
was to be expected.

" But, dear uncle." Angelot said slowly, " it
could only be one person,"

"No — no, impossible!" said Monsieur
Joseph, half to himself. "Angelot my boy —

It'

124

ANGELOT

ii.L

not — not there? ' and he waved his hand in the
direction of Lancilly.

Angelot noddetl. " You have seen her." he
murmured; "you ought not to l)e surprised.
You liave never seen any one half so heautiful. '

Monsieur Joseph laughed outright. " Have I
always lived at Les Chouettes ? " he said. " How-
ever, she is a pretty girl, fair, graceful, distin-
guished. Riette had more to tell me about the
younger ones; that was only natural. Of course
I have only exchanged a compliment with Made-
moiselle Hclene. She looked to me cold and
rather haughty — or melancholy, perhaps. When
have you spoken to her, Angelot ? or is it merely
the sight of her which has given you this wild
idea?"

" Yes, she is melancholy." Angelot said, " hut
not cold or haughty at all. She is sad ; it is
because she is alone, and her mother is ha: ■ and
stern, though her father is kind, and she has had
no peace in life from all their worldly ways. They
wanted to marry her to people she detested — her
mother did, at least — "

" Yes, yes, I have heard something of that,"
said Monsieur Joseph. " They expect a great deal
from her. She is to make an advantageous mar-
riage — it is necessary for her family. It will
happen one of these days; it must. My dear
little Angelot. you know nothing of the world —
how can you possibly imagine — Besides, I do
not care for the Sainfoys." Monsieur Joseph

j">'(rWA id _

•»*.„.

^«^:a'^^i»^-::

jjii -- f*' -■

MAXY AXXOYAXCES 125

sighed. •' r would rather you went to Brittany
for a wife, and so would your mother."

" But you will help me. Cncle Joseph.' " said
Angelot.

'•Help you! Mow can T? Anyhow, vou must
el me more. How did you find out 'all this?
V\ hen dul those people j.,ve you an opportunity of
•speakmg to her.' From their own point of view
they are certainly very imprudent. But I suppose
they thmk you harmless."

It is unpleasant to he thought harmless. Anire-
lot blushed angrily,

" They may find themselves mistaken," he mut-
tered. " I will tell you.- rncle Joseph; "and he
went on to give a slight sketch of what had hap-
pened. ^

It seemed necessary to convince his uncle fhat
he was not talking nonsense, that the fates
had really allowed him a few minutes' talk with
Helene. He could only give half an explanation
after all ; the old mulberry tree had been the only '
witness of what was too sacred to be told He
said that Mademoiselle Moineau's fortunate nap
had given them time to understand each other.

" And this is the fine governess to whom they
expect me to confide my Riette! " said Monsieur
Joseph, laughing: but he became serious again
directly. " And in this interview under the tree
my poor Angelot." he said very gravely, "vou
made up your mind to propose yourself as a hus-
band for Mademoiselle Helene?"

126

ANGELOT

nh' H

i n

" It sf)un(ls soletnii. Uncle Joseph, when you
say it. But yes, I suppose you are right,"' said
Angclot.

" It is solemn. Most solemn and serious.
Something more than a Ihrtation. an amcnirette.
For life, as I understand you. A real marriage
a I'Anglais," said Monsieur Joseph.

For answer. Angelot raved a little. His uncle
listened indulgently, with a charming smile, to
all the pretty lunacies of the young man's first
love, poured into an ear and a heart that would
never betray or misunderstand him.

"And did you tell Mademoiselle Helene all
this? Did you ask her what she thought of
you?" Monsieur Joseph said at last.

" She knows enough, and so do I," said Ange-
lot.

It seemed like sacnlt^, .o say more; but as his
uncle waited, he added hastily — " She is sad,
and I can make her happy. But I cannot live
viithout her — voila! Now will you help
me?"

" It does not occur to you, then, that you are
astonishingly presumptuous ? "

" No."

" Diable, my Angelot ! It would occur to my
cousins De Sainfoy!"

" We are not so poor. As to family, we have
not a title, it is true, but we are their coi^sins —
and look at my mother's descent ! They can show
nothing like it. And then see what thev owe

.^f* \

IT A A*

MAW AXXOVAXCKS ,27

to my fatlier. Without hi.n. what would have
become of .ancilly? Thc-y can make imperialist
marnaft^es for the.r two other .laugluers. Vou
must help me. dear little uncle! "

" Do you suppose they would listen to ,ne, an
oldChouan. Where are y ..r wits, my jioor
ulLr "■" '" ''''-''' '' Madeliselle

*• Not they, no; they are too stupid to appre-

for mr-r/'"',^'"' '' '"^ '^'''^^ ^-' '-'^-
tor me. I hey love and honour vou; thev wiU

sten. Tell them an for me ;asK. them t.;2a;;^
It all. I wdl do atiythins they wish, live any-
where. Only let them give me Helene "

Monsieur , .ph whistled, and took another

arge pmch of snufY. It was almost too dark now

to see each other's face, and the heavy clouds.

with a distant rolling of thunder. hi:ng low ove;

Les Chouettes.

Suddenly a child's voice from a window above
broke the silence.

"Ah, forgive me. papa and Angelot. but I
have heard all. every word you have been saying
It was so mteresting. I could not shut the win-
dow and go to sleep. Well, little papa, what do
you say to Angelot ? Tell him you will help him,
we jdl both help him, to the last drop of ««;

Angelot sprang from his seat with an exclama-
tion, to look up at the window. A small, white-
clad hgure stood there, a round dark head against

128

ANGELOT

the dim light of the rootn. The voice had some-
thing pathetic as well as comical.

'• Millc tonnerrcs!" slioutrd Monsieur Joseph,
very angry. *' Cio to bed this instant, little imp,
or I shall come upstairs with a birch rod. You
will gain nothing by your dishonourable listen-
ing. I shall send y«Mt to Mademoiselle Moineau
to-morrow, to learn lessons all day long."

"Ah, papa, if you do. I can talk to TIelcne
about .\ngeU)t." said Henrictte, and she hastily
shut the window.

The two men looked at each other and laughed.

" Good night, dear uncle," said Angelot,
gently. " I leave my cause in your hands — and
Riette's!"

" You are mad — we are all mad together.
Go home and expect nothing," said Monsieur
Joseph.

n^!^^

CHAPTER IX

•|

now COMMON SENSE FOl <.in AND TRIUMPHED

Genera . Ratoneai- fduntl liimself a hero at
Madame de Sainfoy's dinner [)arty, and was grat-
ified. A new-omier, lie had hardly yet made his
way into provincial society, except hy favour of
the Prefect. Even tiie oUl families who re^^•lrdcd
the Prefect as partly one of themselves, and for
his hirth and manners forj^^ave his opinions, found
a difficulty in swallowing the General. The idea
that he was unwelci me. when it penetrated Raton-
eau's brain, added to the insolence of his hear-
ing. To teach these ignorant jjrovincial nobles a
lesson, to show these poor and proud people, re-
turned from emigration, that they need not im-
agine the France of 1811 to be the same country
as the France of 1788. to make them feel that
they were subjects of the Emperor Napoleon and
inferior to his officers — all this seemed to Gen-
eral Ratoneau part of his mission in Anjou. And
at the same time it was the wish of his heart to
be received as a friend and an equal by the very
people he pretended to despise.

Lanclliy enchanted him. Though the stately
halls and staircases were bare, the great rooms

K 129

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130

ANGELOT

half- furnished and dark — for Madame de Sain-
foy had not yet carried out her plans of decora-
tion — though there were few servants, no great
display of splendid plate, no extravagance in the
dinner itself, no magnificence in the ladies'
dresses, for at this time simplicity was the fashion
— yet everything pleased him, because of the per-
fections of his hostess. Madame de Sainfoy laid
herself out to flatter him, to put him in a good
humour with himself. Rather to the disgust of
various old neighbours who had not dined at Lan-
cilly for more than twenty years, she placed the
Prefect and the General on her riglit and left
at dinner, and while the Prefect made himself
agreeable to an old lady on his right, whose
satin gown was faded and her ancient lace in
rags, she devoted all her powers of talk to the
General.

In a way she admired the man. His extraor-
dinary likeness to his master attracted her, for
she was a hearty worshipper of Napoleon. She
talked of Paris, the Empress, the Court; she
talked of her son and his campaigns, asking the
General's opinion and advice, but cleverly leading
him off when he began to brag of his own do-
ings; so cleverly that he had no idea of her
tactics. He was a little dazzled. She v/as a
very handsome woman; her commanding fair-
ness, her wonderful smile, the movements of her
lovely hands and arms, the almost confidential
charm of her manner; she was worthy to be an

•I i

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HOW COMMON SENSE FOUGHT 131-

Empress herself, Ratoneau thought, and his ad-
miration went on growing. He began to talk
to her of his most private affairs and wishes,
and she listened more and more graciously.

It was a large party ; many of the old provin-
cial families were represented there. All the com-
pany talked and laughed in the gayest manner,
though now and then eyes would light on the
hostess' left-hand neighbour with a kind of dis-
gusted fascination, and somebody would be silent
for a minute or two, or murmur a private
remark in a neighbour's ear. One lady, an old
friend and plain of speech, turned thus to Urbain
de la Mariniere : —

"Why does Adelaide exert herself to enter-
tain that creature? "

^^ "Because, madame." he answered, smiling,
"Adelaide is the most sensible and practical
woman of our acquaintance."

"Mon Dieu! But what does she expect to
get by it ? "

He shrugged his shoulders.

Angelot. the youngest man present, had been
allowed to take his cousin Helene in to dinner.
Two minutes of happiness; for the arrangement
of the table separated them by its whole length.
But it had been enough to bring a smile and a
tmge of lovely colour to Helene's face, and to
give her the rare feeling that happiness, after all,
was a possibility. Then she found herself next to
a person who, after Angelot, seemed to her the

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132

ANGELOT

most delightful she had ever met ; who asked her
friendly questions, told her stories, watched her
in the intervals of his talk with others, with eyes
full of admiration and a deep amusement which
she did not understand, but which set her heart
beating oddly and pleasantly, as she asked herself
if Angelot could possibly have said anything to
this dear uncle of his.

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 thct 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 to-
gether 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

HOW COMMON SENSE FOUGHT 133

brought in, that they walked up together to the
new sofa, poHshed mahogany and yellow satin
finished with 'vinged Sphinxes in gilded bronze.'
where Madan. de Sainfoy and General RatoneaJ
were sitting side by side.

The Prefect, of course, had brought his hostess
back from tne 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 Ma-
dame 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 Lomtesse on the subject of a marriage "

■..!^lu^7'^r ^\" ''"'^ '" ^ ^'^^^ ^"^"^' staring
into the Prefect's face, which did not change in

its^expression of easy good-humour.
" Whose marriage, may I ask? Your own? "

134

ANGELOT

, .i

•I

: 'i \

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■

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it, monsieur. My own.

Ire-

" You have said
Could I do better ? "

'* You could not have a better counsellor,
tire 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 Sain-
foy as she turned away from Angelot at the door.
He had already admired her at a distance, so far
the most beautiful thing at Lanciily, in spite of
the oppressed and weary air that suited so ill with
her fresh girlhood.

" Mon Dieu, what a sacrilege ! But no, impos-
sible ! " 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 coflfee from
those pret+v hands, or not at all."

HOW COMMON SENSE FOUGHT 135

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 com-
manded 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
fnend, pomted them out to Madame de la Marin-
lere.

'I 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 se-
rious, if not a little treasonable.

And in the meanwhile other eyes followed the
two young people: Madame de Sain toy'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, ^ou advise me to marrv, 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
m her face. But she collected herself instantly
and lowered it with a smile.

Hi!

p5| f i

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i I

! I

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136

ANGELOT

" 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 Raton-
eau. " Too young for me, you think ? Well, T
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 gra-
ciously ; 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 Made-
moiselle 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 ofif, 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

t'J^

HOW COMMON SENSE FOUGHT

^i7

she

man she saw

- e>~"»"-'"««i, Willi an-

cestors, with manners, with traditions. Whether
they were returned emigrants or people who had
by force majeure accepted the Revolution and the
^mpire, 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
agamst 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 I "

" You do us great honour," she repeated; for
so strong-mmded 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 Na-
poleon 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

138

ANGELOT

lil

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 nevv possibility. Raton-
eau knew what he was doing; he had not for-
gotten the Prefect's remark at Les Chouettes,
some days before, as to Madame de Sainfoy's am-
bition 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 sud-
denly turned again upon the Comtesse.

" But my answer, madame ! There, you must
excuse me ; I am a rough soldier ; I am not ac-
customed 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

■<nv"*i

now COMMON SENSE FOUGHT

139

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 ol erve, I am speaking
• , - ..1 the frankest confidence. I treat you as
yoi treat me — " she glanced up and smiled.
" O.nly 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. Leav- the
afifair in my hands. I promise, I will dc y I ,t
for you."

140

AN'^ELOT

!1; [ I:

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

It was one of Ilerve's tiresome points, un-
worthy of a man of the world, that he did not
always let her go her own way without ((uestion,
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 Sain-
foy. The Comte walked with him half across the
room, the'i iddenly turned back to meet his wife,
whose pi ccupation he had noticed rather cu-
riously.

"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

HOW COMMON SF.XSK FOUGHT

141

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. lUit 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 ani-
mal ?

The guests, thirty or mote, were scattered be-
tween the billiard-room, the smaller drawing-
room, where cartl-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 Franqais.

" It is part of our life at T.a Mariniere." Anne
said with a shade of impatience to the Prefect,
who was talking to her. " When we are not sing-
mg 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

142

ANGELOT

these little amusements do not hinder people from
conspiring against the State."

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

" Arc you sjjcaking of my son. Monsieur le
I'refet? Do not blame him for loyalty to iiis
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; ne 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 I " 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
Marcjuise of the proverb just played. And a little
further, in the shadow of the doorway, stood An-
gelot in powdered wig, silk coat, and sword, look-
ing 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.

HOW COMMON' SRNSK FOUCillT

»43

delicate

Monsieur de Xianvc^ smiled, took a
pinch of sniitf, and stroked his chin.

" S<jmetime< I congratulate niy>elf, niadame."
he said, "on having no yoinig i)eopIe to marry.
Yet. with a sense of duty, which, thank flod
they generally have, they are more manage.ihle
than their elders. Look, for instance, at your
dear and charming hrother-in-l.iw. There '>e is
hatching fresh plots, when I have just as ured
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 n talk-
ing absently. " Whatever we may think . .f 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 Em-
peror, if he chooses — but by that time there wiP
be no danger! "

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

144

ANGELOT

ill -

In a few minutes more, nearly all the guests
were gone. Angelot, still in his quaint act. g
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 re-
turning 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 Hel^ne, 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 dis-
tance, but in truth she was too much enchanted to
see him, her only friend, for this pretence of cold-
ness 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

HOW COMMON SENSE FOUGHT 145

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 vere
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
mdeed 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 so T
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. " Lis-
ten, 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 ? "

'tfei

146

ANGELOT

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

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

-h

f '

■' f

■f

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* 1

" 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 w^hat 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 differ-
ent 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 coun-

»47

148

ANGELOT

■;

■■' i

■ if :
J t -

i 5- '■

-'If

i
I

Ft !

try 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 con-
sult them. Urbain is different, of course. Ur-
bain 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 at-
tention upon the two men standing before the
fireplace, Herve and Urbain, one troubled and
curious, for he knew her well, and her drift puz-
zled 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, impa-
tient 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 hesi-
tated 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

ms: t

HOW ANGELOT REFUSED 149

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 thm brown face, and stood like a point of ex-
clamation. Nobody spoke, not even Helene's
father.

"Let me announce to you," said Madame de
bainfoy, 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 eye wide with horror, and
even Urbain was startled, but he prudently said
nothing.

"It might — it certainly might—" said Ma-
dame 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 be-
fore you speak."

"Ilii

150

ANGELOT

•? r

f; :

i- ■ t.

" 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, Ade-
laide! 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 send-
ing Helene into a convent ; this, I believe, is the
fourth good proposal thiat you have laughed at.
Yes, a good proposal — listen, Urbain, I know you
will agree with me. lor everv sensible man must.
You talk of General Ratoneau's birth! AH
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."

HOW ANGELOT REFUSED 151

" We are not responsible for him. By the bye
as to the (ieneral's appearance, you can hardly
object to that without bordering on treason. For
my part, 1 call him a handsome man."

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

"He is — he is a butcher's son," cried Joseph,
siKldenly "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 ,t IS more than ridiculous - it is impos-
sible. Why, the very name is enough! Raton-
eau !

Madame de Sainfoy hardly seemed to hear him
bhe put him on one side with the slightest move-
ment of her hand.

" Next year, probably." she said, " General

Ratoneau will be a Marshal of France and en-

nobled. 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, i's 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 Ra-
toneau s own words as to sweeping out the Chou-
ans. Joseph de la Mariniere did not deserve such

152

ANGELOT

1 !

li^ll

I I J

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, speak-
ing 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, ma-
dame, 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 dutifi.il. I
could imagine marriages more obnoxious to her.
She would soon reconcile herself to a husband
chosen for her by all the authorities."

"Poor Hel ! " sighed Madame de la
Mariniere.

" Come, Urbain, you friend of liberty ! " ex-
claimed 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."

HOW ANGELOT REFUSED 153

"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. lie 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? "

Ard 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 impracti-
cable, 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 Sain-
foy, 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 swal-
low and assimilate the new order of things, it

154

ANGELOT

I IP

til' i

1* 1

must be forced down their throats. The Em-
peror, and no one else, had the pfjucr 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 Em-
peror's fav(»ur 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 re-
main 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 distinc-
tion. Aunts, great-aunts, cousins, have chosen it
before her. One of our best and most beautiful
ancestors was a Carmelite nun."

HOW ANCiELOT REFUSED 155

Madame de la Mariiiiere clapped her hands
gently. Herv-: smiled at her, and Madame de
Sainfoy frowned.

"A convent! No. no!" cried Urbain. while
Joseph muttered breathKssly. " Ijut there is a
better alternative, dear cousins ! "

He flew out of the room. The rest of the coun-
cil looked at each other, puzzled and smiling, ex-
cept Madame de Sainfoy, whose irritation
(leepened. Who was this tiresome, old-fashioned
little man, that he should interfere in her plans!
and what lubics 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 agam, clutching Angelot by
the arm.

Coming from the darkness, from the presence
of Helene. An^clot was dazzled and slightly (jut
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 \Nere flushed with
anger or confusion; his faihers. his mother's,
Madame de Sai' y's. It was at her that he
looked most intently; and he had never seen any-
thing 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 white-
ness even more threatening. He understood

ANGELOT

156

Helene's words, " If she knew, she wouUl kill
me." No, this woman would n<jt have much
mercy on anything that crossed her will — and
Mclcne 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, hut it only tightened.

** Here, dear frienrls, I hring you the alterna-
tive ! " cried Monsieur Joseph, in his joyfullest
tone. " Why not marry Mademoiselle Ilelene to
the hest and handsomest hoy in An jou — in
France, for that matter — a hoy we have all
know n from his cradle — who will have a good
fortune, a prudent father's only child — who
would, no douht, 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 hlazing, with
a white face and teeth set as furiously as Ma-
dame 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, Unrle 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 ! " Ansrelot said in a choked voice.

■ i

now AXr.ELOT RFlFrSF.D ,5;.

Still holdin^r Mon.inn Jn^ph u ,th a dnfr\ ,,„„
gr,p. he stared nito Ins e^cs and sl.ook his head
violently.

"What, ungrateftd - •• ,he httl. uncle ^ned
to say. lM,t Angelufs face, his totally unexn,vte.|
rag-e. seemed to sn^r^^e., such unknown niysients
that the words died in his throat

Suddenly released, he dropped into a chair and
swore p: ,.!, . ously unrlcr his hreath. c,uite for-
^'ctrn.^. the presence ..f ladies i„ the unnatural,
a A t'.l chan,^^c i!.at had come over his nephew 1 le
-fared at An.t^relot. who was indeed the centre of
al. eyes; h.s mother sittin^^ uprir^ht in consterna-
tion: h,s father with angry ; .... and queerly
snnhng mouth; Herve d- Sai-,). - erv \rrave
with elevated eyebrows; • h- ' ^ ^ ^'

back in her chair, han^ ;'..,,•
shade less angry than bt. ^
fancy of that ridiculous j v., ,, ,■
nify — yet who knew? Siic
pect a,iy one. every one. even .-., young man's
tatlier. The name of La Mariniere was odious to

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 vo.ce. 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, mes-

,1-

■se leaning

''ul, yet a

• * only a

not sig-

•> to sus-

young man's

I II

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158

ANGELOT

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dames 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 feel-
ing lay behind the words which sounded — in
Monsieur Joseph's ears at least — heartlessly
playful.

Angelot stepped up to Madame de oainfoy and
respectfully kissed her hand. " Bonsoir, ma-
dame!"

" 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 ar other mo-
ment 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."

HOW ANGELOT REFUSED 159

"Ah, moonstruck madness! Ah. the hoy»
y^s yes, said Monsieur Joseph, dreamily, and
he also took his leave.

Monsieur Urbain and his wife followed imme-

the n, f ^f f '"' "°^ '''^'''' f- them and
the htt e hooded carriage, but had walked on
across the valley in the cool damp darkness. They
talkeo very seriously as they drove home, for
once m 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

Samfoy said to her husband. " I am a little tired

of the business."

" I don't think there will be much difficulty

VVe must look further aheld. Plenty of men of

our own rank have accepted the Empire, and

Helene ,s a match for a Prince, though our little

cousm 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 ab-
surdities He is really out of his mind, that man.
1 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.

[{ Y

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CHAPTER XI

HOW MONSIEUR URI5AIN SMOKED A CIGAR

These days before the vintage were very peace-
ful at La Mariniere. Monsieur and Madame
Urbain were practical pe(4)le. and idleness, as a
rule, had a bad time of it with them; but Sep-
tember was a holida\- month, and there was little
work going on, except the hammering of barrels
in the yard, and other preparations for busy Octo-
ber. 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, nuised, 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 Septem-
ber. It occupied Urbain's thoughts and time,
it seemed now to be throwing its net over Ange-
lot. Anne longed still more for peace and refuge
under the low white arches of the church, in her
visits to Ic ban Dicii; and even here her thoughts
distracted her.

She came back from early mass, the morning

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HOW MONSIEUR URBAIN SMOKED i6i

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 <jf all that.
I must talk to him when he comes in."

" My dear Anne, do nothing of the sort. Let
the boy alone, li he has ? fancy for his cousin,
and if Joseph guessed it, which 1 suspect, it is bet-
ter 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 some-
thing. 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
po> ars. 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

l62

ANGELOT

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was sometimes angry with himself for his weak-
ness ; then again philosophy came to his aid : he
laughed and siirugged his shoulders. It had al-
ways 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 sar-
donic 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 1 " murmured Anne. '* To lose
both of them to Lancilly — come, it is too much.

HOW MONSIEUR URBAIN SMOKED 163

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 alfme
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 cloud-
less day. Urbain came home to breakfast between
ten and eleven, but Angelot did not appear. Ur-
bain was grave and full of business. A short
talk with Herve, who was going out shooting, a
much longer and more interesting talk with Ade-
laide, had the consequence of sending him off that
very day to the town of Sonnay-le-Loir, the Pre-
fect's residence and General Ratoneau's head-
quarters.

It was not exactly a pleasant errand, to convey
Monsieur and Madame de Sainfoy's refusal of his
-^ffer to a man like the General. It could have
ueen done quite as easily by the post, thus sparing
trouble and annoyance to the faithful cousin who
had borne so much. But there were complica-
tions; and a careful talking over of these with
Adelaide, after Herve was gone, had led Urbain
to suggest going himself. He had a double rea-
son for wishing to soften the effect of his cousin's
rather short and haughty letter. It must go,

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164

ANGELOT

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, anci 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 Sormay, 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 con-
tinued in the same mind. Many things wanted
for the house and the farm had come conveniently
to his memory. lie 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 rat-
tling pace of twelve miles an hour,

Sonnay-le-Loir was a beautiful and pictur-
esque 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 car-
riage entrance and shady garden behind, went

few

Plow MOxNSIEUR URBAIN SMOKED 165

climbing up the liill to the large square where
the Cathedral towered on one side, the town-hall
and public offices filled up another, the Prefec-
ture a third, and an old hotel, now used as mili-
tary quarters, the fourth.

Though it was not market-dav. the white
cobbled square was cheerful enough ;' a few stalls
of fruit and vegetables, sheltered bv coloured
umbrellas from the strong sunshine, were lodged
al)out 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 Sain-
foy'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, look-

'smm'wwm

A
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■

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'^- . 1 1

1 66

ANGELOT

iiii

ing on a broad, paved court surrounded by bar-
racks.

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 Sain-

foy's letter, torn across, lay on the floor beside

him.

He got up aii^l 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 or-
dinary conversation, and his remarks, especially
on the Spanish campaign, were those of an intelli-
gent soldier who knew his subject.

"If the Emperor would send me to Spain,"

HOW MONSIEUR URBAIN SMOKED 167

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-
dog... 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, Mon-
sieur le General."

" A dangerous doctrine, that ! "
" As long as he keeps them to himself, and does
not disturb the pu])lic peace. I have acted success-
fully on that principle for the last thirty years,
and it has carried me comfortably thro-.tr:. vr^r-ous
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 f^ne idea, too," Urbain said se-
renely. "Only it does not always seem to be
within the limits of the possible."

"Ah, there I agree with the Emperor. He

168

ANGELOT

1 ■

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will not have the wonl 'impossible* in the «Iic-
tionary."

"The Kmpen^r is . great man," ^aid Urbain,
with his inscrutable smile.

It was certainly on Ratoneau's tongue to an-
swer, " 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 flo( i, where Monsieur de Sainfoy's letter
lay; that letter which seemed to belie his bull-dog
b(\isting. 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 ha ; done Mademoise e de
Sainfo\ the honour to make.

" We met last night at Lancilly. monsieur,"
said Ratoneau, " but I did not expect the polite-
ness of a visit from you — at any rate '^o soon.
But I understand that you are your cousin'.s mes-
senger. 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 as prepared and resolved to serve
Adelaide in this matter.

" My own afifairs brought me to Sonnay," he
said. " My cousin wished yr;u to receive his letter

HOW MOXSIEL'R URBAI.V SMOKF.D iCh)

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 r.eneral frowned angrily. "Then what
brought you here, monsk jr ? Do you want to re-
port my disappointment to youi aristocratic f(K)l
of a cousin ? Merci ! " and he swore a few hearty
oaths. " There arc 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 T were to re-
peat 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 l)e extin-
guished 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 n. -t all be so short-
sighted."

"Thousand thimders! Sit down ajjain. mon-
sieur. Take one of these cigars — I had them

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170

ANGELOT

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from Spain — and try this Chateau Latour.
Rather a differenc sort of thing from the stuff that
son of yours expected me to enjoy at Les Chou-
ettes, the other day. That's right. I hke 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 hos-
pitality.

"Now tell me all about it!" cried the Gen-
eral, 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 con-
vinced 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 hus-
band had a way of indulging his daughter's fan-
cies — but after all, I took her to be a woman
who could turn husband and daughter and every-
body else round her little finger, if she chose. So
this rag of a letter came upon me like a thunder-
bolt. 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, " Ma-
demoiselle de Sainfoy has not been asked for her
opinion. The decision comes from her father, and

HOW MONSIEUR URBAIN SMOKED 171

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 mar-
riage 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 an-
swer. 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 con-
nection with a distinguished man like yourself —

172

ANGELOT

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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
c .iscience, 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 Em-
peror, it might occur to Monsieur le Prefet to
mention — "

General Ratoneau stared blankly. " Monsieur
ie Prefet ? "

" Well, am I wrong? I heard something of an
imperial order — a list of young ladies — mar-
riages 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 clat-
tered. His language was startling.

' Monsieur de la Mariniere. you are the clever-
est man in Anjou ! " he <?houted. " And Madame
la Comtesse would not -ngry ? "

" I think not. But a command from the Em-
peror — 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 Urhain
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 car-
riage.

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 agree-
able to a person of Monsieur Urbain's measured
mind and self-controlled ways. He was a type,
and in that way interesting. The strange like-
ness to his master lent him a touch of character,
almost of distinction, neither of which really be-
longed 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 gentle-

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174

ANGELOT

man, or anything like one; yet not quite the
ordinar) buurgcois. Considering the times, it ap-
peared to L'rbain that his cousin de Sainfoy need
not be actually ashamed of such a son-in-law.
Anyhow, he had done his liest to further the mat-
ter, with an earnest recommendation to the Gen-
eral to keep his name out of the afifair.

" Why not? " said Ratoneau. " You only re-
mindfed 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 1
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, mon-
sieur. 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 ! " Uroain said to himself
as he crossed the square.

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

As Urbain came nearer, this man raised his

HOW THE DOG SNAPPED 175

hand to his cap, and spoke with an impudent
grin.

" Monsieur de la Mariniere has l:>een making
peace with Monsieur ic (General Katoneau? It
was a ditilicult matter. J bet ! Monsieur has been
succes;ful? "

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

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

" I am Simon, the police agent, monsieur. The
afifair 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 men-
tioned 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.

176

ANGELOT

.IP

Then his eyes dwelt a moment on Simon, who
looked the very incarnation of malice and mis-
chief, and he smiled benig-nly.

" Merci. Monsieur Simon," he said. " We are
fortunate in havin.c: you to watch over us. But
do not let this anxiety trouble you. I have just
been spendinij some time with fleneral 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 forjc;otten it."

" So much the l)etter." grinned Simon, " for
Monsieur le General would not be a pleasant
enemy." Then, as Urbain was walking on, he
detained him. " Everybody must resjicct Mon-
sieur Urbain de la Mariniere," he said. " He has
a difficult position. If certain eyes were not wil-
fully shut, serious thinfi 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, ? subordinate official at best.
The fellow could not do Joseph much harm, he
thought, the Prefect being friendly, and the Gen-
eral 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.

now THE DOG SXAPPED 177

" I really lin\.' no time to discuss the subject."
he said. " 'l-he p, ,liof. like every one else, nuist do
their duly acoirdinj^r t,, their lights. Good-day.
Monsieur Simon."

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

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

Ratoneau l(xjked 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 tha,^ grinning monkey have
been saying to him:" Simon asked himself.
" Licking the dust ofif his boots somehow, for that
is what he likes, the parvenu ! They are like cats,
those La ^Larinieres! 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 posi-
tion and the respect due to it. The Prefect, on
the contrary, aimed at simplicity and liked soli-

178

ANGELOT

) If

i f

fi i

tudc. His wife had died some years before, not
surviving the death vi her parents, guillotined in
the Terror. If she hail lived, her inHuenc bn-
ing very great. Monsieur de Mauves might never
have held his present appointment ; for her roy-
alism was quite as pronounced as th«it 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 sum-
mer-house near the open windows (jf 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 the 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 snuflf-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 a • hour of
unusual peace and quietness, his only companions
two little greyhounds sleeping at his feet.

It was with a touch of mental annoyance, there-
fore, that he received the announcement of Gen-
eral Ratoneau's visit. But he was far too well

"AN ORDF.R !^ROM ^htE EMf'EROR ' ' HE REPEATED.

HOW THE DOG SNAITKD 179

hrcd t<^ show a sij^n of such feclii. . He I' ft tiiat
to the httle doj^fs, who liarked theii <l.-.ap',;r'>val.
He closed his Itook, went to meet the (iencral in
the hbrary. and invited him out to his favourite
seat in tlie sumincr-hoiiNO. I'licy were an odd
contrast as they ' there together; the f|'"et,
graceful gentlem •. i 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 Pre-
fect 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 Gen-
e il ? " he asked, smiling,

■ By doing your duty," said Ratoneau, with a
g.m.

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

" I ought not," he said, " to need the addi-
tional 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

f^ii

i8o

ANGELOT

M:|i!

l*'|i if '

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 liave not done so."

Something in the General's tone was so dis-
pleasing 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 has, Toutou ! " he said, softly stroking it,
and took a pinch of snuff, regarding the General
with a curiously patient expression.

" I l%»iow 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 some-
thing 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 re-
sponsible. 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."

HOW THE DOG SNAPPED i8i

" 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 sup-
pose," sneered the General. " Come, monsieur,
you should forget your aristocracy now and then,
and remember that you are a servant of the Em-
peror. 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

182

ANGELOT

Itf^

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 Raton-
eau. 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 Raton-
eau, 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

HOW THE DOG SNAPPED 183

then at any conclusion ? What was our hostess's
advice on that interesting subject? Did she sug-
gest — the name of any lady, for instance? "

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

"/made a suggestion; and Madame de Sain-
foy accepted it very kindly. In fact, Monsieur le
Prefet, I asked her for her daughter, Mademoi-
selle Helene."

Monsieur de Mauves knew that he ought to
have been prepared for this answer; yet, some-
how, 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 en-
chantmg smile, walking through the long room
with her boy cousin, himself in his slender clance
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 m 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

1 84

ANGELOT

\ ii

such a slough as this? did she really mean to gain
imperial favour by such a sacrifice?

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

" Pardon — and you say that Madame de Sain-
foy 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 Tier husband. Between our-
selves, madame knows that I could be of use to
her at Court."

"Could you?"

"Certainly, Monsieur le Prefet. >Iy 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, Mon-
sieur 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, con-
found 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

HOW THE DOG SNAPPED 185

sincere, if inconsistent, joy that this news eave
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 Sain-
foy is the woman I mean to marrv. 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 d- ':cs rolled into one, instead of
being what he . 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

l:t

1 .' : t

i ri ^i

m II

if-''

i86

ANGELOT

the lid of Henriette's basket, those keen eyes, now
thoughtfully lowered, had seen the hiding-place
of the Chouans in Monsieur Joseph's v/cxxl ; yet
no harm had come to the Royalist conspirators.
And now, when an official of the Empire asked
his help in a private matter, h»lp 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 dan-
ger 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 uncompro-
mising clearness : " Do not deceive yourself,
monsieur. I shall not write to headquarters on
any such subject, and no such orde 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 neces-
sary," the Prefect murmured. "But I would
rather reason with you."

!-*■ .fi

:^r-K*K'i

'- yiw^".*?'

CHAPTER XIII

HOW MONSIEUR SIMON SHOWED HIMSELF
A LITTLE TOO CLEVER

General Ratoneau had gone into the Prefec-
ture 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 le Mauves. What was the use of giv-
ing in ref -ts that were never acted on ! In other
departments there were substantial money re-
wards 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 pro-
motion. He drove with a slack rein ; his weapons
were trust and kindness. He had to be driven to

187

i88

ANGELOT

!; :i'

Mfl

U i

extremities before he would treat anybody, even
a proved Chouan, with the rigour of the hiw.
Simon tried to do a little terrorising on his own
account, and had made so.ne money by black-
mailing 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 coimtry.

Rato.ieau. coming out with a sulky, scowling
face from his interview with the Prefect, hap-
pened 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 him-
self useful to him in several underhand ways.

" What do you want ? " he said, stopping sud-
denly.

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 ofificers' 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 agree-

HOW SIMON SHOWED HIMSELF i>?o

able. The \^Ii(.le mess was j^iad to he reheved of
his scowlinjr presence unusually early. He had
drunk little, and went away unusually sober; but
that was not always a pood si^n with him. If he
chose to keep a clear brain, it was geiierally for
his own ends, and they were seldom virtu(njs or
desirable.

The General was scarcely in his own room
when Simon presented himself, sneaking? upstairs
with a light tread aiid slipping noiselessly through
the (lo(.r. his dark face full of eager expectation.
He had often wondered whether there might not
be some special dirty wo-k to be done for the
General, and had taken pains to keep himself un-
der his eye and in his good looks. If the civil
power chose to let the Chouans h; e it all their
own way, the military power might one of these
days step in effectively. But Simon was not par-
ticular. 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 diflficult to stand unmoved un-
der 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.

ij:f\

^li^K.

190

ANGELOT

fit il

iiMi

■\ 4 'I

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

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

" Ah ! Indeed ! There has l>een some disagree-
ment. I saw it. when Monsieur le General came
put of the Prefecture this afternoon."

" You ;-iw 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 depart-
ment 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 sen-
tence between his teeth with an amused grin, for
General Ratoneai:, striding round the room in a
■..hirlwind 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 —

i I

W:=

HOW SIMOX SHOWED IIIMSKLF 19,

yes. sometimes a small fortune lies in a griev-
ance. **

" I believe you are a liar!"
''Pardon, monsieur — what lie have I told?"
\ou sa.d you iui.l had provocations. You

called Monsieur le Prefct t fpitu^r i^i

"- I iLiti a ieather-l)ed. nieaniuff

hat he had smothered and stifled you. 1 don't

believe a word of it!"

"Oh! iMonsieur le r.nieral is very clever!"
bimon ventured on a small laugh.

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

"Monsieur le General may have had a slight
difference to-day with Monsieur le Prefet but
they will be reconciled tc>-m..rrow. Whv should
1 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."
1 hen why did you come here ? What did you
suppose I wanted you for? "

Ki " J° "^V!^""^ '''''^' ^°' '''^'^^' I '"i&ht possi-
bly be paid." ^

" Is it a question of pay ? "

" Partly, monsieur. I made some valuable dis-
coveries a week or two ago, and they have turned
out of no use whatever. Here am I still an ordi-
nary police officer, my work not acknowledged in
any way, by praise, pay, or promotion. I tried on

If I

i Mi

i^i

ii.

192

ANGELOT

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 (ieneral 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.

Pinion grinned.

" Ah. m- nsieur, this is not enough to make
me s'fe. 1 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.

" H 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

«.::«

HOW SfMOX SHOWF.D IIIMSI-LF

»93

tli'uipht of that. H

lit — the G

,, — *'"- "">enuncnt is pen-

cra!ly ,„„,,a,..f„: _ ,.,,,1 if .Iktc- were anv ..riva"e

7"':T '" '- - f- Monsieur le ,i..r:/l

"at ,n,Kh, l,e ,l„i„« l,ar„, ,„ «,„,, ^f ..„J
fnen.ls, monsieur." '

" My fn'cuils? H.nv?"

Silt'.'' '"""' ' "'"' '™""'°" "° "•■™"'" "'<>

Tl,e GeucrnI t,«,k- „ut l,i. p,K:ket-l,o„k and gave
him a note f„r a th.,usand francs
^ ''Out with it, fell,™.. , ha,e mysteries," he

.hol!and'.""' """■■"'^ '^ «"""" ' -W f-

" Well there are two more. Not another penny

.11 you have e.x|,laine<l yourself. And then if

I am not satisfied. I shall ,u,„ vou over to my

Ruard to !« flosgod for thef, and lying. And

Idoubt, they willleavetnuch in your ^,kets"
Vou treat me like a Jew. monsieur! "
Vou are a Jew. Go o„. What are these

grand .hscoveries that Monsieur le Prefet will

have noth.ng to do with ? "

havet?""''"' ''',°'' '"°"'''"'- ■^''^ conspirators

* '" Manmere's house, Les Chouettes. They
were there that day. when Vr„„si«,r le Pr«et
and Mons,e„r le General breakfasted with him.
That day when we met a herd of cows in the

•ft

194

ANGELOT

it! ^

4 '

" Hold your tongue, you scoundrel. You are
telling nie 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.

HOW SIMO^ SHOWED HIMSELF 195

I questioned old Joubard the farmer, too, for his
loyahy 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,
aftf^r conferring with some of these Chouan gen-
tlemen 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 to 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 Mon-
sieur le Comte would have made a better marriage

■n

196

ANGELOT

III

I li ilk. 31 t

I I

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 conspiraci s, Monsieur de Sainfoy
could hardly afford — and after all, cousins are
cousins. Y 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 griev-
ance 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 gentle-
man, and Madame la Comtesse is a wise lady.
Then Monsieur Urbain de la Mariniere — he is
the friend of both — he visited Monsieur le Gen-
eral to-day."

This was - touch of curiosity, which the Gen-
eral 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.

;' ^!

HOW SIMON SHOWED HIMSELF 197

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 re-
solved; 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, mon-
sieur."

*' What are they ? "

" Well, to begin with. Monsieur le Prefet may
not be managed so easily. He is quite capable of
gomg to Paris and laying the whole case before
the Emperor, who respects him. He might point
out Monsieur Joseph de la Mariniere's close re-
lationship with all these people who have rallied
to the Empire. He might make it appear like per-
sonal spite of yours, monsieur, because Monsieur
de Sainfoy had refused you his daughter. And

198

ANGELOT

1 '

J It: '

» J- =

: M

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 re-
sort, now that you have told me everything."

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

" Not ui. other 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 under-
stood. All I say is, I would not use it jusi yet.
The circumstances are delicate. When I sold the
information, and dirt chear >, I knew nothing

of all the interesting; rom.

Monsieur

Gen-

HOW SIMON SHOWED HIMSELF

199

eral has told me. An affair of marriage wants
tender handling. This one, especially, wants very
clever management. 1 f I, in Monsieur le General's
place, meant to be the husband of Mademoiselle
de Sainfoy, I would not begin by doing any-
thing 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 deduc '•--"•= hem ! "

" Ah ! You had bcuv, lot 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 ex-
plain 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
iive thousand francs, or he would know the rea-
son why. Presently he spoke in a low, cautious
voice.

" The person to approach is Monsieur le Due

h§

r>'

w!l '^

200

ANGELOT

de Frioul. A direct order from His Majesty
would be the quickest and most certain way of
bringing the marriage alx)ut. It is not a poHce
question, that. Monsieur le General has certainly
deserved the favour, and the Emperor does not
very often refuse officers in matters of this
ki;id."

" Mille tonnerres, Simon, you talk like an am-
bassador," 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 coun-
sellor wiih 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 infor-
mation, 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 de-

now SIMON SHOWED HIMSELF 201
sirable. All I say is, make sure of your wife

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

Presently he stopped short and turned to Simon.

"Get along with y.ni. fellow, and hold your
tongue." he said. " I will have nothing to do
with your dirty trick^. I will settle the matter
vvrth Monsieur le Prefet."

"But me, monsieur? What will bee le 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 set-
tled. Do you hear me? Go -or wait to be
kicked. Which shall it be?"

CHAPTER XIV

::v\

IN WHICH THREE WORDS CONTAIN A GOOD
DE/\L OF INFORMATION

It was not so easy for Angelot to make his
peace with Uncle Joseph, who v. as 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 i-ave 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 vou 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 Raton-
eau, 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 ! "

202

THREE WORDS

203

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

He was reatly to go out shfxiting in the fresh
morning air. His gun leaned against the bench
where he was sitting, and his dog watched liim
with eager eyes. His delicate face was dark with
melancholy disgust as he looked at the hoy 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 passion-
ately. " 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

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

" 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 oflFered
them you in the place of Ratoneau or a convent,
and you would not even wait to hear what they

204

ANGELOT

uMi

III

f .

Hi.

said. Nonsense alx)ut her mother! Mothers do
not kill their children in these days. Mademoi-
selle 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? "

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

" On my word, you snatch your opportuni-
ties!"

" Of course! And when you were young — "

" There — no impertinence — "

" Dear uncle, I asked you days ago to talk
to m^ 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 impos-
sibility, 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."

THREE WORDS

20$

"My father!"

*' He thinks there could not fn? a more sensi-
ble marriaj,'e. The daiiijluer of the Comte de
Sainfoy — a (listinj,'iiished general of division;
(liable! what can anybody want more? So
my Anjjelot, I u-as not a false prophet, it seems
to me, when I feit very sure that what vou asked
mc was hopeless. Your father would have l)een
a«:ainst you. for the sake of the Sainfoys; your
mother, for opposite reasons. 'J'here was' one
chance. Herve himself. 1 saw that he was very
anjrry 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 An-
gelot. " 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 pre-
sumptuous hopes flown to, my boy? The other
day you found yourself good enough for Made-
moiselle Helene."

:ll

.i;'li

2o6

ANGELOT

" Perhaps I do still." Angelot said, and
la".ghed. " But I did not then quite anderslund
the Comtesse. I know now that s!ir detests mc.
Then, too, she had nf>t seen or tliought of
Katoneau — 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 Ange-
lot. Well — 1 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. AUons! 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 ? "

THREH WORDS

207

" I am afraid — for her sake— I must not go
quite s.> iinicii to Lancilly. Not for a few days,
at least, till last ni^^jit is forgotten. 1 canm.t meet
her l)cf<jre all those people, with their eyes upon
me. i k'lieve Madame de Sainf )y saw that I
was lyinp. 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 w ith the others."

" Nevertheless. I tiiink s... Hut I nutst 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 Lan-
cilly 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 Urhain, and one in
the family is enough, I think. Voyons ! Would
your Mademoiselle Moineau do any harm to
Riette?"

"Ah! But no! I believe she is a most ex-
cellent woman."

"Only a little sleepy — hein? Well, I will
change my mind about that offer I refused. I will
send Riette every day to learn needlework and
Italian with her cou.sins. She will teach more

~.a,--»^^

208

ANGELOT

:s^

than she learns, by the bye ! Yes, our little guet-
teusc shall watcli for you, Angelot. Bv^ on one
condition — that she knows no m 'e Uuiti she
does already. You can ask her w at <[ucs'tion?-
you please, of course — but no lelais or mes-
sages, mind; I trust to your honour. 1 wili i.ot
have the child made a go-between in my cousin's
house, or mixed up with matters too old for
her. She knows enough already to do what
you want, to tell you that Mademoiselle Helena
is safe and well. I will have nothing more,
you understand. But I think you will he wise
to keep away, and this plan may make absence
bearable."

He turned his anxious, smiling face to Ange-
lot. And thus the entire reconciliation was
brought about; the two understood and loved
each other better than ever before, and Riette, as
she had herself suggested, was to take her part in
helping Angelot.

Neither Monsieur Urbain, in his great discre-
tion, nor his wife, in her extreme dislike of Lan-
cilly and all connected with it, chose to say a
word either to Angelot or his uncle about the
strange little scene that had closed the dinner-
party. It was better forgotten, they thought.
And Angelot was too proud, too conscious of
their opinion, to speak of it himself.

So the three talked that night about Sonnay-le-
Loir and the markets there, and about the neigh-
bours that Urbain had met, and about certain

^■■jc^.^es^T'^'^.'^' .

THREE WORDS

209

defects in one of his horses, and then about the
coming vintage and its prospects.

Urbain fetched dowt' a precious book, consid-
erably out of (kite now, tlie Theatre d' Agriculture
of OHvier de Serres, Seigneur (hi Pradel, and be-
gan studying, as he (hd every year, the practical
advice of that exceHent writer on the manage-
ment of vineyards. The experience of Angelot,
gained chiefly in wandering round the fields with
old Joubard, differed on some points from that of
Monsieur de Serres. He argued with his father,
not at all in the fashion of a yctung man hope-
lessly in love ; but indeed, though Helene was the
centre of all his thoughts, he was far from hope-
less.

There was a briglit spring of life in Angelot,
a faith in the future, which kept him above the
most depressing circumstances. The waves might
seem overwhelming, the storm too furious ; Ange-
lot would ride on the waves with an unreasoning
certainty that they would finally toss him on the
shore of Paradise. Had not Helene kissed him?
could he not still feel the sweet touch of her lips,
the velvet softness of that pale cheek? Could his
eyes lose the new dream in their sleepy dark
depths, the dream of waking smiles and light
in hers, of bringing colour and joy into that grey,
mysterious world of sadness ! No ; whatever the
future might hold — and he did not fear it — An-
gelot could say to his fate : —

"To-morrow do thy worst, for I have lived to-day,"

"^-^A

K'^'^^.f

2IO

ANGELOT

m h

There was such a glory of happiness behind
the present clouds that the boy had never seemed
to his mother more light-hearted. She listened to
his a k with his father, the smiling dispute as to
what age of the moon was the most lucky for be-
ginning the vintage. Monsieur de Serres, with
a kindly word of indulgence for those who
thought much of the moon, contented himself with
recommending fine weather and a convenient day.
Joubard, and Angelot with him, held to the old
country superstition of the waning moon.

This would throw the vintage later than Mon-
sieur Urbain wished, and he pointed out that
De Serres was a sensible man and a philosopher.
Silly fancies, lunatical, astrological, were not
much in his line.

" He is also a Calvinist," said ' '^me de la
Mariniere. " He has no religion real re-

ligion. He believes in nothing but what he can
see. Take my advice, leave Olivier on the shelf,
and stick to the old ways of the country."

" Ah, bah ! and do you know why my farm-
ing has always succeeded?" said her husband,
laughing. " Because I have been guided by the
wisdom of De Serres. He is a rare man. He
has as little superstition as Montaigne himself."

" And is as worthy of a bonfire! " said Anne,
but she smiled.

She was sitting at her tapestry frame, beside
her two wax candles, and while her needle went
industriously in and out, her eyes were constantly

■.Tji-'.'*

irdSrX-^m.7^^SEi:-

THREE WORDS

211

lifted to where those two sat talking. Urbain
turned over the leaves of his fat, red-edged quarto,
lingering lovingly on favourite pages. Angelot
laughed and chattered, leaning easily on the table.
The adventure of last night seemed to have left
no impression upon him.

" How foolish that dear Joseph was ! " his
mother thought. " But oh, what a contrast to
that odious dinner-party ! Now, this is peace, this
is what I have prayed for, to have them both
happy at home, and free of Lancilly."

But when she kissed her boy that night, look-
ing eagerly into his face, something cold touched
her heart. For his look was far away, and the
smile in his eyes was not for her at all.

" Urbain," she said, " are you sure that all is
right with Ange?"

" All, my beloved, except a little superstition
about the moon, of which life will cure him," her
husband answered with his queer smile.

" The moon ! Yes, he talked last niglit about
the moon," she said. " That is what I mean,
Urbain, not your moon for the vintage."

"Oh! la' belle Helene!" he said Hghtly.
"Don't derange yourself. I did not tell you —
I found her mother this morning in a resolute
state of mind. She does not intend to have the
young lady on her hands long. If not one mar-
riage, it will be another, you will see. Herve
will find he must leave the matter to his wife.
Ange! bah! children's fancies are not worth a

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212

ANGELOT

i:>

ilf ,hi

thought. If you Hved more in the world, you
would be happier, my poor Anne."

" I don't think so," Anne said as she turned
away.

The next morning Monsieur Urbain stayed in-
doors till breakfast time. This was often enough
a habit of his, but he was generally buried in his
books and did not care to be disturbed. To-day
he wandered about the house, took a turn into the
porch, observed the clouds, looked at his watch,
and behaved generally with a restlessness that
Anne would have found unaccountable; but she
was out with a sick woman in the village. She
came in soon after ten, followed by Angelot from
his shooting.

They sat dov/n to breakfast, that warm, day,
with doors and windows open. The old, low
room with its brick-paved floor was shady and
pleasant, opening on the stone court where the
porch was; the polished table was loaded with
fruit. Angelot's dog lay stretched in a patch
of sunshine; he was ordered out several times,
but always came back. When the heat became
too much he rose panting, and flung his long body
into the shade; then the chilly bricks drove him
back into the sun again.

The three were rather silent. Urbain, who al-
ways led their talk, was a little preoccupied that
morning. After finishing his second large slice
of melon, he looked up at Angelot and said, " Af-
te*- breakfast I will go wath you to La Joubard-

^T^-

■.-:a\:v-W'V

^T^W-

■liP'-t.rr.'

rs-

THREE WORDS

213

'i;

iere. We must settle with Joubard about the
vintage; it is time tilings were fixed. I say the
first of October. As to his moons, I cannot Hsten
to such absurdities. He must arrange what suits
me and the weather and the vines. First of all,
me."

" That is decided," said Angelot, smiling.
•'Joubard will shake his head, but he will obey
you. You are a tyrant in your way."

" Perhaps ! " Urbain said, screwing up his
mouth. "A benevolent despot. Obedience is
good for the soul — n'est-ce pas, madame? I
give my commands for the good of others, and
pure reason lies behind them. What is it,
Negc > "

The dog lifted his black head and growled.
There was a sharp clank of footsteps on the
stones outside.

"A bas, Nego!" cried Angelot, as a soldier,
with a letter in his hand, appeared at the window.

The dog sprang up, barking furiously, about
to fly -^t him.

" See to your dog! Take him away ! " Mon-
sieur Urbain shouted to Angelot.

The young man threw himself on the dog and
dragged him, snarling, out of the room. Anne
looked up with surprise at the soldier, who
saluted, standing outside the low window-sill.
Urbain went to him, and took the letter from his
hand.

" It is Monsieur de la Mariniere ? " said the

Si'M I

liti

Pi'

214

ANGELOT

man. " At your service. From Monsieur le
General. Is there an answer?"

" Wait a moment, my man." said Urbain.

He broke the large red seal, stnnding by the
window. One glance showed him the contents
of the letter, for they were only three words and
an initial.

— "Tout I'a bicn. R." —

But though the words were few, their signifi-
cance was great, and it kept the sturdy master of
La Mariniere standing motionless for a minute
or two in a dream, with the open letter in his
hand, forgetful alike of the messenger waiting
outside, and of his wife behind him at the table.
A dark stain of colour stole up into his sunburnt
face, his strong mouth quivered, then set itself
obstinately. So ! this tiling was to happen. Trea-
son to Herve, was it ? Xo, it was for his good, for
everybody's good. Sentiment was out of place
in a political matter such as this. Sacrifice of a
girl? well, what was gained in the world without
sacrifice? Let her think herself Iphigenia, if
she chose; but, after all, many girls as noble and as
pretty had shown her the way she was to go.

" All goes well ! " he muttered between his
teeth. " This gentleman is impatient ; he does
not let the grass grow. Odd enough that we have
to thank our dear Joseph for suggesting it ! "
Then he woke to outside things, among them the
waiting soldier, standing there like a wooden
image in the blaze of sunshine.

:*.>:

THREE WORDS

215

" No answer, my friend," he said.

He took (Jilt a live- franc piece and gave ii to
the nnn, not without a glance at tlie splendid
Roman head upon it.

"He only needs a little idealising!" he said
to himself: then aloud to the soldier: " iMy best
compliments to Monsieur le General. Go to the
kitchen; they will give you something to eat
and drink after your ride."

"Merci, monsieur!" the soldier saluted and
went.

Urhain folded the letter, put it into his pocket,
and returned silently to his breakfast. Something
about him warned his wife that it would be lx;tter
not to ask questions ; but Anne seldom observed
such warnings, for she did nijt know what it was
to be afraid of Urbain, though she was often
angry with him. With Angelot it was different;
he had sometimes reason to fear his father; but
for Anne, the tenderness was always greater than
the severity.

They were alone for a few ininutes, Angelot
not having reappeared. While Urbain hurriedly
devoured his sorrel and eggs, his wife gazed at
him with anxious eyes across the table.

" You correspond with that odious General ! "
she said. " What about, my dear friend ? What
can he have to say to you ? "

" Ah, bah ! the curiosity of women ! " said
Monsieur Urbain, bending over his plate.

" Yes," Anne said, smiling faintly. " It ex-

2l6

ANGELOT

f5 i

' I

■ 1

ists, and therefore it must be p:ratified. Is not that
a doctrine a<"ter your own heart? What was
that letter ah.)Ut, lell tne? Vou could not hide
that it interested you deeply."

He shrugged his shoulders.

" Remember, we never talk politics, you and I.
Not even the politics of the departme it."

** It has something to do with the Chouans,
then? With Joseph? Ah, but do not trust that
man, Urbain ! he has a horrid face. Did you see
him yesterday? Did he say anything about
Joseph — and about Ange? He has a spite
against Ange, I believe."

" Do not be uneasy," Monsieur Urbain replied.
"I did see him yesterday, if you must know, my
dear Anne. He is friendly; well, you can see
the letter. I do not choose to explain it altogether,
but it speaks for itself."

He took out the letter, unfolded it, and handed
it to her with a curious smile.

"Tout va hicn!" Anne read alou'V "What
does he mean ? "

" He means, I suppose, that my mind may be
at rest. You see that he is in a good temper."

" It looks like it. certainly. But that is strange,
too. Had Herve de Sainfoy sent him an answer?
Whtn you saw him, did he know — "

" Yes, he knew."

"How did he bear it?"

" Like a man."

" Really ! One dislikes him a little less for

lit

THREE WORDS

217

that. Rut still, Urhaiti, why should you have
anythinj,' to do with hiin? Is it not cuoiiltIi tliat
the Prefect is so friendly to us all? With his
protection, Joseph and Angc are not in any real
danger."

" It is l)est to have two strings to one's how/'
answered Urhain. " I prefer Katfjtieau a friend to
Ratoneau an enemy."

" I should like hest no Ratoneau at all," said
Anne. She flicked tiie letter back to him from
the tips of her fingers, lightly and scornfully.
" How could Adelaide talk to him for a whole
evening! " she sighed.

"Adelaide is a woman of the world, as we have
decided before," said Urbain. "Say no more;
here is the boy. It is best that he should know
nothing of this — do you understand ? "

Anne understood, or thought she did; and a
nod and smile from her went a long way towards
reassuring Angelot, who had been a little puzzled
by the sudden appearance of the soldier. But he
was not curious; his father was by no means in
the habit of telling him everything, making in-
deed a thin cloud of wilful mystery about some
of his doings. It had always been so ; and Ange-
lot had grown up with a certain amount of blind
trust in the hand which had guided his mother
and himself through the thorny years of his
childhood.

At this moment he was distracted by a very
serious attack on Nego. The dog would have

IHI

•■*.,jM.-» ■•r ^

i*HnilB^.

t
|i I

218

ANr;i:LOT

Ib'l

to be shot. Monsieur Urhaiti sail, if he received
people so sava>i:cl) ; ati<l in defendinji; Ncgo the
rest of Anj,a'lot's breakfast-time was si)ent.

Later on he -.vas a little surprised by liis father's
telling him to go alone to l.a Jonbardiere and
arrange about the vintage. Urbait' had remem-
bered business, he said, which called him to Lan-
tilly. 1 le turned aw.iy and left the r(K)m without
a word, without seeing, or perhaps choosing to
see, the sudden tiamc of irritation in Anne's
dark eyes, the light of another feeling in Ange-

lot's.

The young fellow lingered a moment in the
dining-room window, and watched the sturdy
figure walking away in linen clothes and a straw
hat, the shoulders slightl} bent from study, the
w hole effect tluit of honest strength and capacity,
not at all of intrigue and ruse. Then he turned
round and met his mother's eyes. For a moment
it seemed as it nuist read each other's soul.

But Anne only said : " Do not delay, my boy.
Go to Toubard; arrange things to please your
father. We must remember; he is wiser than
we are; he does the best for us all."

" Yes, my little mother," said Angelot. " Only
— Nego shall not be shot. Yes, I am going this
instant."

He took her hand and kissed it. She pushed
back his hair and kissed his forehead.

"And what are you going to do?" he said.
" Come with me to see the old Joubards."

wmmmmmmmmmmmim.

TiiKEH WORDS

219

" No. no. I must jj" t<> the church." she said.
" I was hurried tliis nioruiufj;."

As Uri)aiu crossed the valley, );«>injjf tl;r<>ujj;h the
little hamlet, down the white st<>ny lane, hetwccn
hij^di hed}.jes, then by held paths across to the
lower jxtplar-shaded r<iad, then alon^ hy the
slow, bright stream to the briclj^a* and the tirst
white houses of Lancilly. he thoujjlit with some
amusement and satisfaction of that morning's
diplomacy. He had not the smallest intention of
taking his dear and pretty Anne into his confi-
dence. The little j)lot. which Adelaide and he had
hatched so cleverly, must remain between them
and the General.

This jxjwer of suggesting was a wonderful
thing, truly. A word ''ad been enough to set the
whole machinery going. If he rightly understood
that Tout va bicn, it meant that the Prefect
was ready once to do his part. That seemed
a little strange; but after all, De Mauves would
not have reached his present position without
some cler-erness to help him, and no doubt he saw,
as Urbain did, the excellence of this arrangetnent
for everybody all round. Ilerve de Sainfoy was
really foolish ; his own enemy : Urbain and Ade-
laide were his friends ; they knew how to make use
of the mammon of unrighteousness. The advan-
tages of such a connection with the Empire were
really uncountable. Urbain was quite sure that
he was justified in plotting against Herve for his
good. Did he not love him like a brother?

■Ii

220

ANCIRLOT

^.1'

Si to i

'ij

> :-

Would he not have pivcn him the last penny in
his purse, the last crust if they were starving?
And as for niislcadinj^ Anne a little, that too
seemed rij^ht to his conscience. It was only a
case of economising truth, after all. In the end,
the Ratoncau cotuicction would be useful in sav-
ing Joseph and his friends, no <loul)t, from some
pf the Consequences of their foolishness.

It was with the serenity of success and con-
scious virtue, deepened and hriglitened by the joy
of pleasing the beautiful Adelaide, that Urbain,
finding her alone, put the General's letter into her
hand.

There was an alnK)St vulture look in the fair
face as she stooped over it.

"Ah — and what does this mean?"

" It means," Urbain said. " that General Raton-
eau has seen the Prefect, and that that excellent
man is ready to oblige him — and you, madame."

"Me?" Adelaide looked up sharply, with a
sudden flush. " I hope you gave no message
from me."

" How could I ? you sent none. I am to be
trusted, I assure you. I simply hinted that if the
affair could be managed from outside, you would
not be too much displeased."

" Nor would you," she said.

"No — no, I should not." He spoke rather
slowly, stroking his face, looking at her thought-
fully. This pale passion of eagerness was not
becoming, somehow, to his admired Adelaide.

!. -'-jLt- t

-A. *aif,.

^¥'ti

THRFE WORDS

221

" Xnr Would yoii," slif rt-peated. " ('i»nu'. L^r-
haiii, he frank. \i>u ku-<\\ it is iH-cc-.<ir\ , irom
your point of view, that lii'lfiu- ^ll<.lll(| Ik- mar-
ried soon. NOu kiMw that ■>ill\ hoy of xours
fancies himself in love witli her."

" It would not l)e nimaniral. .Ml France
min:ht do the same. I'.ut pardon me. 1 do not
know it."

" Von mean that he h;is no? confided in von.
Well, well, do not lay hold .,\ tny words; you
had eye-, the iii<.,dit hefore last; yon saw what
1 saw, what every one niint have seen. N'ou con-
fessed as much to me yesterday, so d(j not contra-
dict yotirself now."

"Very well — yes!" Urhain smiled and
howcd. '■ Let us ap^ree that my poor hoy may
have such a fancy, lint what does it matter? "

"Of course it does not really matter, hecause
such a marria.cfe would he ahsolutely impossihle
for Ilelcne. I'ut it is hetter for a younj:^ man not
to have such wild amhitions in his head at all.
You know I am rijq:ht. Vou ag-ree with me. That
is one reason why you are working with me
now."

" It is true, madame. You are right. But did
it not seem to you, the other night, that Angelot
himself saw the impossihility — "

" No, it did not." she said, and her eyes flashed.
" He had to protect himself from his uncle's mad-
ness — that was nothing. P>y the hye. that won-
derful brother of yours has changed his mind

ty.

1; r«

fii!

i l^i^^i

^..

"i ■?;

222

ANGELOT

about Henriette. He sent her here this morn-
ing with a letter to me, and she is now doing her
lessons with Sophie and Lucie."

" I am delighted to hear it," said Urbain, ab-
sently. "But now, to return to our subject —
the Ratoneau marriage — " he paused an instant,
and whatever his words and actions may have
been, Madame de Sainfoy was a little punished
for her scorn of his son by the accent of uttei
disgust with which he dwelt on the General's

name.

For she felt it, and he had the small satisfac-
tion of seeing that she did. She had trodden on
her worm a little too hard, in telling Ange de la
Mariniere's father that he might as well dream
of a princess as of Helene de Sainfoy.

" Yes, yes," she said hastily, and smiled bril-
liantly on Urbain as much as to say, "Dear
friend, I was joking. We understand each other.
— Tell me everything you did yesterday — what
he said, and all about it," she went on aloud.
" Ah, Herve ! " as her husband sauntered into
the room — "do have the goodness to fetch me
those patterns of silk hangings from the library.
This dear Urbain has come at the right moment
to be consulted about them."

I- !

CHAPTER XV

HOW HENRIETTE READ HISTORY TO SOME
PURPOSE

The inside of the Chateau de Lancilly was a
curious labyrinth of arched stone passages paved
with brick, cold on the hottest day, with short
flights of steps making unexpected changes of
level ; every wall so thick as to hold deep cup-
boards, even small rooms, or private staircases
climbing steeply up or down. The old ghosts of
the chateau, who slipped in and out of these walls
and flitted about the hidden steps, had lost a good
deal of their credit in the last twenty years. No
self-respecting ghost could show itself to Urbain
de la Mariniere, and few mortals besides him
haunted the remote passages while the great house
stood empty.

And now one may be sure that the ghosts were
careful to hide themselves from Madame de Sain-
foy. No half-lights, no chilly shadows wavering
on the wall, no quick passing of a wind from no-
where, such hints and vanishings as might send
a shiver through ordinary bones, had any effect
on Adelaide's cool dignity. The lij^ht of reason
shone in her clear-cut face ; her voice, penetrating

!ri f

i : I

224

ANGELOT

I 1 .) ' •

\im\'

1 :<

and decided, was enough to frighten any foolish
spirit who chose to sweep nishingly beside her
through the wall as she walked along the pas-
sages.

" Do you hear the rats ? " she would say.
" How can we catch them ? These old houses are
infested with them."

She spoke so firmly that even the ghost itself
believed it was a rat, and scuttled away out of
hearing.

To reach the north wing, where her three girls
and their governess lived, Madame de Sainfoy
had to mount a short flight of steps from the hall,
then to go along a vaulted corridor lighted only
by a small lucarne window here and there, then
down a staircase which brought her to the level of
the great saloiis and the dining-room at the oppo-
site end, which formerly, like this north wing, had
hung over the n.oat, but were now being brought
nearer the ground by Monsieur de Sainfoy's
earthworks.

This old north wing had been less restored than
any other part of the chateau. The passage
which ran through it, only lighted by a window at
the foot of the staircase, ended at the arched door
of a silent, deserted chapel with an altar on its
east side, a quaint figure of Our Lady in a carved
niche, and a window half-darkened with ivy
leaves, overhanging the green and damp depths
of the moat, now empty of water.

Before reaching the chapel — lonely and neg-

HOW HENRIETTE READ HISTORY 225

lected. but not desecrated, for by the care of
Madame de la Mariniere mass had been said in it
once a year — there were four doors, two on each
side of the corridor. The first on the left was that
of the 1 >m where Sophie and Lucie both slept
and did their lessons, a large room looking out
west to the gardens and woods behind Lancilly;
and o,>ening from this, with a separate door into
the passage, was Mademoiselle Moineau's room.
On the right the rooms were smaller, the chapel
cutting them off to the north, with a secret stair-
case in the thickness of the wall by the altar. A
maid slept in the first; and the second, nearest
the chapel, but with a wide, cheerful view of its
own across the valley to the east, was Helene's
room.

Madame de Sainfoy, after disposing of Herve
and hearing all that Urbain had to tell her, with
digressions to the almost equally interesting sub-
ject of silk hangings, set off across the chateau to
inspect the young people at their lessons. She
was an excellent mother. She did not, like so
many women, leave her children entirely to the
consciences of their teachers.

Her firm step, the sharp touch which lifted the
heavy old latch, straightened the backs of Sophie
and Lucie as if by magic. Lucie looked at her
mother in terror. Too often her round shoulders
caught that unsparing eye, and the dreaded back-
board was firmly strapped on before Madame de
Sainfoy left the room; for Lucie, growing tall

i ill

iilPil'

iifiii!

•». i

«l

226

ANGELOT

and inclined to stoop, was going through the pe-
riod of torture which Helene, for the same rea-
son, had endured before her.

They all got up, including Mademoiselle Moi-
neau. The two girls went to kiss their mother's
hand ; Henriette, more slowly, followed their ex-
ample.

' " I hope your new pupil is obedient, mademoi-
selle," said Madame de Sainfoy, as her cold glance
met the child's fearless eyes.

Mademoiselle Moineau cocked her little arched
nose — she was very like a fluffy old bird — and
smiled rather mischievously,

" We shall do very well, when Mademoiselle de
la Mariniere understands us," she said. " I have
no wish to complain, but at present she is a little
sure of herself, a little distrustful of me, and
so —

" Ignorance and ill-breeding," said the Com-
tesse, coolly. " Excuse her — she will know
better in time."

Riette's eyes fell, and she became crimson. The
good-natured Sophie caught her hand and
squeezed it, thinking she was going to cry; but
such weakness was far from Riette; the red of
her cheeks was a flame of pure indignation. Ig-
norant! Ill-bred! She had been very much
pleased when the little papa decided suddenly on
sending her to join Sophie and Lucie in their les-
sons ; she had been seized with a romantic admi-
ration for Helene, independent of the interest

HOW HENRIETTE READ HISTORY 227

she took in her for Angelot's sake, and in other
ways the Chateau de Lancilly was to her en-
chanted ground. And now this fair, tall lady,
whom she had disliked from the first, talked of
her ignorance and ill-hreeding ! She drew herself
up, her lips trembled; another such word and
she would have walked out of the room, fled down
the corridor, escaped alone across the fields to Les
Chouettes. She knew every turn, every step in
the chateau, every path in the country, far better
than these people did ; they would not easily over-
take her.

But Madame de Sainfoy was not thinking of
Henriette.

"What are you doing? Reading history?"
she said to the others. " Mademoiselle, I thought
it was my wish that Helene should read history
with her sisters. The other day, if you remember,
she could not tell Monsieur de Sainfoy the date
of the marriage of Philippe Due d'Orleans with
the Princess Henriette of England. It is neces-
sary to know these things. The Emperor expects
a correct knowledge of the old Royal Family.
Where is Helene? "

" She is in her own room, madame. Allow me
an instant — "

The three children were left alone. Madame de
Sainfoy walked quickly into Mademoiselle Moi-
neau's room, the little governess waddling after
her, and the door was shut.

Riette made a skip in the air and pirouetted on

'if

228

ANGELOT

fill

M; ' ^ '!

one foot. Then while Sophie and Lucie stared
open-mouthed, she was on a chair; then with a
wild spring, she was hanging by her hands to the
top cornice of a great walnut-wood press; then
she was on her feet again, light as an india-rubber
ball.

" Ah, mon Dieu ! sit down, Rictte, or we shall
all be beaten ! " sighed the trembling Lucie.

" Don't be frightened, children ! " murmured
Riette. " Where is our book ? Now, my angels,
think, think of Henri Quatre and all his glory ! "

In the meanwhile, Mademoiselle Moineau laid
her complaint of Helcne before the Comtesse.
Something was certainly the matter with the
girl ; she would not read, she would not talk, her
tasks of needlework were neglected, she did
not care to go out, or to do anything but sit in
her window and gaze across the valley.

" Of course there has been no opportunity —
they have never met, except in public — but if it
were not entirely out of the question — " Made-
moiselle Moineau stammered, blushing, conscious,
though she would never confess it, of having
nodded one day for a few minutes under a certain
mulberry tree. " The other night, madame, at
the dinner party, did it strike you that a cer-
tain gentleman was a little forward, a little inti-
mate — "

Madame de Sainfoy lifted her brows and
shrugged her shoulders.

" You mean young La Mariniere ? Bah ! non-

HOW HENRIETTE READ HISTORY 229

sense, mademoiselle. Only a little cousin, and a
quite impossible one. We cannot keep him quite
at arm's length, because of his father, who has
been so excellent. But if you really think that
Helene has any such absurdity in her head — "

" Oh, madame, I do not say so. I have no posi-
tive reason for saying so. She has told me noth-
ing — "

" I should think not," said Madame de Sain-
foy, shortly.

Mademoiselle Moineau was dismissed back to
her pupils, whom she found, under Henriette's
surveillance, deep in the romance of French his-
tory.

Madame de Sainfoy crossed the passage and
tried Helene's door. It was not fastened, as she
had half expected. Opening it quickly and
gently, she found her daughter sitting in the
window, as the governess had described her,
with both arms stretched out upon its broad sill,
and eyes fixed in a long wistful gaze on the small
spire of the church at La Mariniere, and the screen
of trees which partly hid the old manor buildings
from view.

" What are you doing, Helene? " said Madame
de Sainfoy.

Her voice, though low, was peremptory. The
girl started up, turning her white face and tired
eyes from the window. Her mother walked
across the room and sat down in a high-backed
chair closo by.

IHI

230

ANGELOT

1 1 II

iff'

" What a waste of time," she said, " to sit
staring into vacancy! Why are you not reading
history with your sisters, as I wished? "

" Mamma — my head aches," said Helene.

" Then bathe it with cold water. What is the
matter with you, child? You irritate me with
your pale looks. Do you dislike Lancilly? Do
you wish yourself back in Paris?"

" No, mamma."

" I could excuse you if you did," said Madame
de Sainfoy, with a smile. " I find the country in-
supportable myself, but you see, as the fates have
preserved to us this rat-infested ruin, we must
make the best of it. I set you an example, Helene.
I interest myself in restoring and decorating. If
you were to help me, time would not seem so
long."

She did not speak at all unkindly.

" I like the country. I like Lancilly much bet-
ter than Paris," said Helene.

There was a moment's gleam of pity in Madame
de Sainfoy's bright blue eyes. Languid, sad, yet
not rebellious or sulky, her beautiful girl stood
drooping like a white lily in the stern old frame
of the window. The mother believed in c'.sci-
pline, and Helene's childhood and youth had been
spent in an atmosphere of cold severity. Pun-
ishments would have been very frequent, if her
father's rather spasmodic and inconsequent kind-
ness had not stepped in to save her. She owed a
good deal to her father, but these debts only

HOW HEXRIETTE READ HISTORY 231

hardened her mother against both of them. Yet
Madame de Saiiifoy was not without a certain
pride in the ix-rfcct form and features, the deli-
cate, exquisite grace and (hstinction, which was
one of these days to dazzle the Tuileries. On
that, her resolution was firm and unchanging.
Tout va bicn! One of these days the Em-
peror's command might be expected. With that
confident certainty in the !)ackground. she felt she
need not trouble herself much about her husband's
objections or her daughter's fancies.

"You are a very difficult young woman,
Helene," she said, still not unkindly, and her
eyes travelled with slow consideration over every
detail as the girl stood there. " I do not like that
gown of yours," she said. " Don't wear it again.
Give it to Jeanne — do you hear? "

" Must I ? But it is not worn out, mamma. I
would rather keep it," the girl said quickly, strok-
ing her soft blue folds, which were in truth a
little faded.

Then she flushed suddenly, for what reason
could she give for loving the old gown! Not,
certainly, that she had worn it one day in the gar-
den — one day when Mademoiselle Moineau went
to sleep!

" You will do as I tell you," said Madame de
Sainfoy. Then she added with a slight laugh —
" You are so fond of your own ^y\y. ,hat I won-
der you should object to being rarri^^ri. Do you
think, perhaps, you would nd • husband still
more tyrannical ? "

'i\ h I

232

ANGELOT

No," she miT-

The girl shook her head,
mured.

" Then what is your reason? for you evidently
intend not to be married at all."

" I do not say that," said llelene; and Madame
de Sainfoy was conscious, with sudden anger,
that once more the dreamy grey eyes travelled out
of the oi)en window, far away to those lines of
poplars and clipped elms opposite.

" How different things were when I was
young!" she said. "My marriage with your
father was arranged by our relations, without our
meeting at all. I never saw him till everything
was concluded. If I had disliked him, I could
neither have said nor done anything."

"That was before the Revolution," said
Helene, with a faint smile.

" Indeed you are very much mistaken," her
mother said quickly, " if you think the Revolu-
tion has altered the manners of society. It may
have done good in some ways — I believe it did
— but in teaching young people that they could
disobey their parents, it did nothing but harm.
And it deceived them, too. As long as our na-
tion lasts, murriages will be arranged by those
who know best. In your case, but for your
father's absurd indulgence, you would have been
married months ago. However, these delays
cannot last for ever. I think you will not refuse
the next marriage that is offered you."

The girl looked wonderingly at her mother,

HOW IIEN'RIETTE READ III VPORY 233

half in terror, half in hope. She spoke niean-
inpiy, p()>itivcly. What marriaj^e could this he?

*' What wfHild you say tr) a (li>tinj.jui>he(l sol-
dier?" said Madame de Sainfoy. watchinji^ her
keenly. " Then, with some post alM-»ut the Court
and your hushand always away at the wars, you
could lead a life as indei)endent as you chose.
Now. pray do not think it necessary to throw
yourself out of the window. I make a sufjj^estion,
that is all. I am tjuite aware that commands are
thrown away on a younj;^ lady of your character."

"What do you mean, mamma?" the •^I'irl
panted, with a quick drawinj^-in of her breath.
"Who is it? Not that man who dined here —
that man who was talking to you ? "

Madame de Sainfoy flamed suddenly into one
of those cold rages which had an effectiveness all
their own.

" Idiot ! " she said between her teeth. " Con-
temptible little fool! And if General Ratoneau,
a handsome and distinguished man, did you the
honour of asking for your hand, would you ex-
pect me to tell him that you had not taken a fancy
to him ? "

" Mon Dieu ! " Helene murmured. She turned
away to the window for a moment, clasr 'ng her
hands upon her breast; then, white as death,
came back and stood before her mother.

" It is w^hat I feared," she said. " It is what
you were talking about; I knew it at the time.
That was why you sent me out of the room — you

wmmm

wmm

? n

234

ANGELOT

(If!

. ■ I

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1 ' ■ "

1 ^

^ jiffl ^

1 yfli i

Mfl

pHft Hi

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iJb.

wanted to talk it over. Have you settled it, then?
What did papa say?"

Madame de Saiiifoy hesitated. She had not at
all intended to mention any name, or to make
Helene aware to any extent of the true facts of
the case. Her sudden anger had carried her
further than she meant to go. She neither wished
to frighten the girl into tlying to her father, nor
to tell her that he had refused his consent.

" Really, Helene. you are my despair," she
said, and laughed, her eyes fixed on the girl's
lovely, changing face. '* You leap to conclusions
in an utterly absurd way. If such a thing were
already settled, or even und»r serious considera-
tion, would you not have been formally told of it
before now? Would your father have kept si-
lence for two days, and would you not have heard
of another visit from General Ratoneau? You
would not be surprised, I suppose, to hear that he
admires you — and by the bye. I think your taste
is bad if you do not return his admiration — but
that is absolutely all I have to tell you."

" Is it ? " the girl sighed. " Ah, mamma, how
you terrified me! "

Madame de Sainfoy shrugged her shoulders.

'• I wonder," she said, " how i have deserved
such a daughter as you ! No courage, no ambi-
tion for your family, no feeling of duty to them.
Nothing but — I am ashamed to say it, Helene,
and you can deny it if it is not true — some silly
sentimental fancy which carries your eyes and

HOW HEXRIETTE READ HISiORY J35

thonplits to that old firm over there. Ah. I 'lee
I am right. Wheti d'u\ this preposterous nonsense
begin? Why. the <|ue>tion is not ^sorth asking,
for you have hartlly even s[)oken to that cousin of
yours, and i will do him the justice to say that lie,
on his side, has no such ridiculous i<lea. lie does
not sit staring at Lancilly as you do at Ln Mari-
niere! Yes, licKne, I am ashamed -f you."

Helene stood crimson and like a culprit before
her mother. She hardly understood lie-r word's;
she only knew that her moi'.er had read her
heart, fiad known how to folic v her thoughts as
they escaped from this stony prsson away to sun-
shine and free air and waving' tree- and a happy,
homely life; away to Angel- . W hat was there
to be ashamed of. after all ? She ex})ected no one
to be on her side; she dreaded their anger and
realised keenly what it mi^^ht be; but as for
shame !

Even as Madame de Sainfr y spoke, the thought
of her young lover seemed to surround Helene
with an atmosphere of joyful sweetness. Yes, he
was wonderful, her Angelot. Would he ever be
afraid or ashamed to confess his love for her?
Why could she not find courage then to tell of
hers tor him ?

With a new and astonishing courage Helene
lifted her long lashes and looked up into her
mother's face. It was a timid glance at the best ;
the furtive shadow lingered still in her eyes, re-
sult of a life of cold repression.

!?'

236

ANGELOT

1:1

"Why should I deny it, mamma?" she said.
Her voice was (Hstinct. though it trembled. " It
is true, and I am not ashamed of it. Angelot has
been kinder to me than any one in the world.
Yes — I love him."

"Ah!" Madame de Sainfoy drew a long
breath. " Ah ! Voyons ! And what next,

pray ?

" If you care at all to make me happy," the
girl said, and she gained a little hope, heaven
knows why, as she went on, " you and papa will

will give me to him. Yes, that is what I want.

Mamma, see, I have no ambition. I don't care to
live in Paris or to go to Court — I hate it ! I
want to live in the country — over there — at La
Mariniere."

A smile curled Madame de Sainfoy' pretty
mouth. It was not an agreeable one; but it
frightened Helene much less than an angry word
would have done. She came forward a step or
two, knelt on her mother's footstool, timidly
rested a hand on her knee. Madame de Sainfoy
sat immovable, looking down and smiling.
" Speak, mamma," murmured the girl.
"Helene, are you deaf?" said Madame de
Sainfoy. " Did you hear what I said just now ? "
" You told me I had no courage or ambition.
I suppose it is true."

" I told you something else, which you did not
choose to hear. I told you that this fancy of
yours was not only foolish and low, but one-sided.

HOW HENRIETTE READ HISTORY 237

Trust me, Helene. I know more of your precious
cousin than you do. my clear."

" Pardon ! Ah no. mamma, impossible."
" It is true. The other night, as you guessed,
I sent you away that I might discuss your future
with your father and his family. That very ab-
surd person, Cousin Joseph de la Mariniere. chose
to give his opinion without being asked for it,
and took upon himself to suggest a marriage be^
tween you and that little nephew of his. Take
your hand away. I dislike being touched, as you
know."

The girl's pale face was full of life and colour
now, her melancholy eyes of light. She snatched
away her hand and rose quickly to her feet, step-
ping back to her old place near the window.

" Dear Uncle Joseph ! " she murmured under
her breath.

" The young man was not grateful. He said
in plain words that he did not wish to marry you.
Yes, look as bewildered as you please. Ask your
father, ask either of his cousins. I will say for
young Ange that he has more wits than you have;
he does not waste his time craving for the im-
possible. If it were not so, I should send you
away to a convent. As it is, I shall stop this little
flirtation by taking care that you do not meet him,
except under supervision."

The girl looked stricken. She leaned against
the wall, once more white as a statue, once more
terrified.

238

ANGELOT

iu' V

mm -

■i ¥■

'B\i

'' Angelot said — but it is not possible 1 " she
whispered very low.

" Angelot very sensibly said that he did not
care for you. Under those circumstances I think
you are punished enough ; and I will not insist
on knowing how you came to deceive yourself so
far. But I advise you not to spend any more time
staring at that line of poplars," said Madame de
Sain toy. " Learn not to take in earnest what
other people mean in play; your country cousin
admires you, no doubt, but he knows more of
the world than you do, most idiotic and ill-be-
haved girl ! " '

As she said the last words she rose and crossed
the room to the door, throwing them scornfully
over her shoulder. Then she passed out, and
Helene, planted there, heard the key grind in the

lock.

She was a prisoner in her room ; but this did
not greatly trouble her. She went back to the
window, leaned her arms on the sill, gazed once
more at La Mariniere, its trees motionless in the
afternoon sunlight, thought of the old room as
she had first seen it that moonlir evening with its
sweet air of peace and home, thought of the noble,
delicate face of Angelot's mother, thought of
Angelot himself as the candle-light fell upon him,
of the first wonderful look, the electric current
which changed the world for herself and him.
And then all that had happened since, all that
her mother did not and never must know. Was

ilOW HENRIETTE READ HISTORY 239

it really possible. could it be believed that he meant
nothing, that he did not love her after all ? No
it could not be believed. And yet how to be sure',
without seeing him again ?

Ah, well, for some people life must be all sad-
ness, and Helene had long believed herself one
of these. Angelot's love seemed to have proved
her wrong, but now the leaf in her book was
turned back again, and she found herself at the
old place. Not quite that either, for the old dead-
ness had been waked into an agony of pain. An-
gelot false! Hell must certainly be worse to bear
after a taste of Paradise.

She laid her fair head down on her arms at the
open window, high in the bare wall. An hour
passed by, and still she sat there in a kind of
hopeless lethargy. She did not hear a gentle tap-
ping at the door, nor the trying of the latch by
some one who could not get in. But a minute
later she started and exclaimed when a dark head
was suddenly nestled against hers, her cheek
kissed by rosy lips, her name whispered lov-
ingly.

" Oh, little Riette ! " she cried. " Where did
you come from, child? Was the key in the

door? "

^^ "No, there was no key." Riette whispered
^ou are locked in. ma belle; but never nind
I know my way about Lancilly. I am going home
now, and I wanted to see you. They will ask me
now you are looking."

240

ANGELOT

It: •;- ,

Hclene blushed and almost laughed. She
looked eaj,a'rly into the child's face.
" Who will ask you?"
" Papa, of course."
" Ah, yes, he is very kind. What will you say

to him?"

Kiette looked hard at her and shrugged her

slight shoulders.

'* I must go,*' she said. " Kiss me again, ma

belle."

"Stop!" Helene held her tight, with her
hands on her shoulders. " Do you often see —
your cousin — Angelot? "

Riette's face rippled with laughter. "Every
day — nearly every hour."

"Why do you laugh?"

" How can I tell ? It is my fault, my own
wickedness," said Riette, penitently. " Why in-
deed should I laugh, when you look sad and ill ?
Can I say any little word to Angelot, ma
cousine? "

" Tell him I must see him — I must speak to
him. Tell him to fix the place and the hour."

" And you a prisoner? "

"Yes — but how did you get in? That way
I can get out — Riette — Riette! "

" Precisely. Adieu ! they are calling me."

The child was gone. Helene, standing in the
deep recess in the window, now came forward
and looked round wonderingly. The old tapes-
tried walls surrounded her; ancient scenes of

HOW HENRimTI-: KKAI) IllSTOUY 241

huntinp^ and dancing which at first had Iroiihlcd
her sleep. There was no visihle exit from the
room, except the locked door. Hiit Riette was
^one. atid the messaj.^e with her. Was she a real
child, or only a comforting dream?

l-i- \

km 'it

CHAPTER XVI

HOW ANGELOT PLAYKI) THE PART OF AN
OWL IN AN IVV-BLSII

That night, while Ilelene sat alone and in dis-
grace, her lover was dancing.

After dinner Rictte persuaded her father to
walk across with her to La Mariniere, where they
found Monsieur Urhain, his wife and son, spend-
ing c- 2 eveninr^ in their usual sober fashion; he,
deep in vintage matters, still studying his friend
De Serres, and arguing various points with An-
gelot wliose day had been passed with Joubard
in the vineyards; she, working at her frame,
where a very rococo shepherd and shepherdess
under a tree had almost reached perfection.

Madame de la Mariniere had views of her own
about little girls, and considered Riette by no
means a model. She had tried to impress her
ideas on Monsieur Joseph, bui; though he smiled
and listened admiringly, he spoiled Riette all the
more. So her Aunt Anne reluctantly gave her
up. But still, in her rather severe way, she was
kind to the child, and Rictte, though a little shy
and on her good behaviour, was not afraid r f her.
There was always a basket beside Aunt Anne, of

242

PLAVKD THK PART OF AN OWL 243

clothes she was jiiakinjr fr,,- the poor, for her
tapestry was only an evening,' annisenieiit. In this
basket there was a httle white cap sucli as the
peasant children w<.re. partly embroidered in
white thread. This was kiette's special work,
whenever she caine to La Mariniere. Sitting? on a
footstool bcsKlc- her aunt, she stitched away at
"Ic bonnet de la petite Lise." At her rate of
progress, however, as her aunt pointed out with a
melancholy smile, Lise would be a grown-up
woman before the cap was finished.

.\nd on this special evening the stitches were
both few and crooked. Rjctte paid no attention
to her work, but sat staring and smiling at Ange-
lot across the room, and he. itistead of talkhig
to his father and uncle, watched her keenly under
his eyelids. Presently he came and stood near
his mother's chair while she asked Riette a few
questions alxDut her lessons that day. It appeared
that all had been satisfa^ lOry.

"A good little woman. Mademoiselle Moi-
neau," said Riette, softly, smiling at Angelot.
who felt the colour mounting to his hair. " I like
her very much. She pretends to scold, but there
is no malice in it, you know. I '',„•. 'hink she
is very clever. Quite clever enoi ^h f. r Sophie
and Lucie, who are most amiable, poor dear
children, but stupid — ah ! "

"They are older than you, I believe, Henri-
ette," said her aunt, reprovingly.

" Yes, dear aunt, in years, but not in experi-

244

ANGELOT

into, t

li J f t

ence. I have lived, I know life " — she nodded
gently — " while those poor girls — Ah, how
charming! May I have a little dance with Ange,
Aunt Anne ? "

" I suppose so. Lise will not have her cap
yet, it seems," said Madame de la Mariniere,
smiling in spite of herself.

Monsieur Joseph had sat down to the piano
and was playing a lively polka. Angelot started
up, seized his little cousin, and whirled her oft
down the room. In a minute or two Urbain took
off his spectacles, shut the Theatre d' Agriculture
with a sharp clap, walked up to Anne and held
out his hands with a smiling bow.

" I can't resist Joseph's music, if you can, my
little lady!"

" It seems we must follow the children," she
said. " Riette has just been pointing out that
she, at least, is wiser than her elders."

Angelot and his father jumped their light part-
ners up and down with all the merry energy of
France and a new world. After a few turns, An-
gelot waltzed Riette out into the hall, and they
stood still for a few moments under the porch,
while she whispered Ilelene's message into his
ear.

* Mon Dieu ! Rut how can she meet me ? It
n) ■ be at night, or they will see us. And if
she IS locked into her room?"

" She can get out of her room, mon petit ! She
knows there is a way, though I have not shown it

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 245

to her. Theri there is the secret staircase in the
chapel wall,"

" You are right, glorious child that you are.
She will find me in the moat, close to the little
door. Nothing can be safer, provided that no one
misses her."

"At what time?"

" Nine o'clock, when they are all playing
cards."

" I will tell her," said Riette. " Oh. my Ange!
she looked so sweet when she talked of you. I
think I love her as much as you do. Why don't
you bring her to Les Chouettes, that we may take
care of her? There is an idea. Take her to
Monsieur le Cure to-morrow night. He will be
gone to bed, but no matter. Make him get up and
marry you. Then come and live at Les Chouettes,
both of you. We have plenty of room, and little
papa would not be angry."

"Hush, child, what things you say!"

The very thoughts were maddening, there in
the dim darkness under the stairs, with glimmer-
ing points of distant earthly light from Lancilly
on the opposite hill. One of them might be
Helene's window, wdiere she sat and watched La
Mariniere.

The music in the old room behind went swing-
ing on. Monsieur Joseph played with immense
spirit; Monsieur and Madame Urbain danced
merrily up and down.

"AUons! we must go back," Angelot whis-

246

ANGELOT

♦Hi:.

! *

1 ,

pcretl to his little cousin, whose arms were round
his neck. " And then ycai must dance with your
uncle, because my mother likes a turn with
me."

One cold touch of reflection came to dim his
happiness. He had promised Uncle Joseph not to
make Henriettc a go-l)etween. And it seemed no
real excuse that it was Helene's doing, not his.
Well, this once it could not be helped. All the
promises in the world would not make iiim dis-
obey Helene or disappoint her.

For the present, it seemed as if the attraction
between himself and Helene, a rapture to ly^th
of them, still meant very real misery to her. She
was in deep disgrace with Madame de Sainfoy.
Although she was allowed to come down to the
meals, at which she sat statue-like and silent, she
was sent back at once to her room, and either her
mother or Mademoiselle Moineau locked her in.

Her father noticed these proceedings and
shrugged his shoulders. He was sorry for
Helene, but had learnt by experience not to inter-
fere, except on great and necessary occasions.
No doubt girls were sometimes troublesome, and
he did not pretend to know how to manage them.
Adelaide must bring up her children in her own
way.

Another day of almost entire solitude, with a
terrible doubt of Angelot added to the longing
for his presence, so that peace was no longer to
be found in the distant sight of La Mariniere;

playi:d the part of an owl 247

another day had dragged its length through the
hot hours of the afternoon, when, as llclene
walked restlessly up and down in her room, the
blue-green depths of a grove on her tapestried
wall began to move, and out from the wall itself,
as if to join the dancing peasants beyond the
grove, came the slender little figure of lienriette.
In an instant the panel of tapestry had closed be-
hind her and she had sprung into Helene's arms.
The girl clutched her convulsively.
"What does he say?"

" To-night, at nine o'clock, he will be near the
little door in the moat. Meet him there."
" The little door in the moat ! "
" You see this. Let me show you the spring "
— she dragged her to the wall, and opened the
panel with a touch. Inside it there was a dark and
narrow passage, but opposite another panel stood
sliglnly ajar.

" That is the way into the chapel," Riette whis-
pered. " I came that way. But you must turn to
the rigiit, and almost directly you will find the
stairs. Tlie door is at the foot of them. He will
be there."

" It is unlocked ? "

" 'here is no key. I believe there has been
none for centuries. Adieu, my pretty angel.
They will miss me; I must go. I told ihem I
wanted to say a little prayer to Our Lady in the
chapel. She often helped me wiicn I u-^ed to play
here."

248

an(;elot

h I

t
ft

V\ .-i

"I hope she will help me, too!" murmured
Ileleuc.

In another moment she was terrified at finding
herself alone in the dark; for the child was K">ic,
softly closing the secret door into the chapel.
Ilclene felt ahout for a minute or two before she
could find the spring behind the tapestry, and
stepped back into her room, shivering from the
damp chill of the passage.

It seemed like an extraordinary fate that that
night her mother kept her downstairs at nee< Ik-
work later than usual. It was in truth a slii^lit
mark of returning favour. Madame de Sainfoy
was in a better temper, and realised that it might
be unwise to treat a tall girl of nineteen quite
like a disobedient child. So Helene sat there
stitching beside Mademoiselle Moineau, who was
sometimes called upon to take a hand at cards.
To night this did not seem likely, for Urbain de
la Mariniere came in after dinner, and the snufTy,
sharp-faced little Cure of Lancilly was there too.
Madame de Sainfoy had asked him to dine that
day, partly to show herself superior to family
prejudices; for this little man, unlike the vener-
able Cure of La Mariniere, was one of the Con-
stitutional priests of the Rc|iublic.

Flushing crimson, and feeling, as she well
might, like a heroine of romance, ITclcne heard
the new Paris clock strike nine. Its measured, sil-
very tones had not died away, when she was
by her mother's side at the card-table, timidly
asking leave to go to her room.

5 I

PLAYKD THE PART OF AN OWL 24.,

Madame <lc Sainfoy had just planccd at her
hand ar.d found it an exdllcnt <ine.

" Ves, my child, certainly." slu- >ai(l absently,
and jjavc Iltlrne Iht free hand.

The girl touched it with her lips, md then her
mother's finders iij^ditly patted lu-r lieek.

" Flow feverish yon are! "Ad. a, \. nnin^ntred.
but took no further notice. aU-orm-^ 111 her i,'ame.
" Like a little tlain« ' Init it is a hot nijjht." said
Her\e as his dauKditer kissed him.

Mademoiselle Moineau was followinjj Helena
from the room, when she was called hack.

"No, mademoiselle, you must stav; we can-
not do without you. Monsieur le Cure has to be
home before ten o'clock."

The governess v. em back obediently to her
corner. Helene cl, r*-' !)ack from the door at
the group ro-,: . !-< ;,,:.., deep in their calcula-
tions, carelr :< 01 -j..., ;; .Vht he goinj,' .n out-
side their cioM.^ ..f - uki:;.; r.ndle-light. Onlv her
father lifted ;ip hjvi .r-' . nked after her for an
instant; her pie-^ x/ ,,- r .„ lue was totally indif-
ferent to the other !> r. ^ though the square-heade<l
cousin Urhain was Angelot's father; and her
mother had forgotten her already.

Carrying her light, Helene went with quick and
trembling steps through the house to the north
wing. As she entered the last passage, she met
the maid who had been waiting on Sophie and
Lucie, and who slept in the room next her
own.

«■

ivi

250

ANGELOT

''ill I-

til K

11! !i.!.

ti^

*' Mademoiselle wants me ? " said Jeanne, a
little disappointed; she had hoped for half-an-
hour's freedom.

" No, no, I do not want you," Helene answered
quickly. " I have things to do — you can stay
till Mademoiselle Moinqau comes up."

Jeanne went on her way rejoicing.

Helene, once in her own room, locked the door
inside, took a large blac'- lace scarf and threw it
over her head, hiding her white dress with it as
much as possible ; then, still carrying her candle,
touched the mysterious tapestry door, that door
which seemed to lead into old-time woods, into
happy, romantic worlds far away, and stepped
through into the passage in the thickness of the
wall.

Almost instantly she came to the topmost step
of the staircase. Black with dust and cobwebs,
damp, with slimy snail-tracks on the stones, it
wei.'t winding down to the lowest story of the old
house. The steps were worn and irregular. Long
ago they had been built, for this was the most
ancient part of the chateau. In their first days
the stairs had not ended with the moat, then full
of water, but had gone lower still, leading to a
passage under the moat that communicated with
the open country. There were many such under-
ground ways in the war-worn old province. But
when Lancilly was restored and the moat drained,
in the seventeenth century, the lower stairs and
passage were blocked up, and the present door

aii^JBiift, ;■■',/?«..

y^LyAix-jfiv^K

:»eTir-£fMKCi'

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 251

was made, opening on the green grass and bushes
that grew at tlie bottom of the old moat.

Helene went down the steep and narrow stairs
as quickly as her trembling limbs would carry
her. They seemed endless; but at last the light
fel! on a low, heavy door, deep set in the Tm-
mense foundation wall. She seized the large
rusty latch and lifted it without difficulty. Then
she pulled gently; no result; she pushed hard,
thmkmg the door must open outwards; it did not
move. She set down her light on the stairs, and
tried again with both hands; but the door was
immovable. As her brain became a little steadier,
and her eyes more accustomed to the dimness,'
she saw that a heavy iron bar was fastened across
the upper panels of the door, and run into two
enormous staples on the wall at each side. She
touched the bar, tried to move it. but found her
hands absolutely useless; it would have been a
heavy task for a strong man. She stood and
looked at the door, shivering with terror and dis-
tress. After all, it seemed, she was a real pris-
oner. She could not keep her appointment with
Angelot. She gave a stifled cry and threw her-
self against the door, beating it with her fists and
bruising them. Then a voice spoke outside, low
and quicklv.
"Helene!"

" Ah ! you are there ! " she said, and leaned her
head against the door.
" Open then, dearest — don't be afraid. Lift

i»'^^j'»L:a«:K : . pvut^lwu fs^mxaixBBSwifKKX.

ii •

252

ANGELOT

\Mi-

the latch, and pull it towards you. There is only
a keyhole on this side — but it can't be locked,
for there is no key."

" I cannot," she said. " It is barred with a
great iron bar. I cannot move it. Oh, how un-
h .ppy I am ! Why should I be so unfortunate,
so miserable? " she cried, and beat upon the door
again.

" Ah, mon Dieu ! My father's precautious !
He went round the chateau six weeks ago, to ex-
amine all the doors. I was not with him, or I
should have known it. Helene! Will you do as

I ask you ? "

" Ah ! there is nothing to be done. I had to
speak to you — I cannot, with this dreadful door
between us, and — Ah, heavens, something has
put out my candle. I am in the dark! What
shall! do!"

"Courage, courage!" he said, speaking close
to the keyhole " Go back up the stairs ; go to
the chapel winuow ! "

" But I cannot speak to you from the win-
dow ! "

" Yes, you can — you shall."
" But I am in the dark ! "
"You cannot miss your way. Go — go
quickly — we have not much time — it is late
already."

" I could not help it," sighed Helene.
She was almost angry with him. and for a mo-
ment she was sorry she had sent him any mes-
sage.

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 253

" What is the use ? How can I speak to him
from the window ? it is too high," she said to her-
self as she stumbled up the stairs, shuddering as
her fingers touched the damp wall. " It is my
fate — I am never to be happy. My mother
knows she can do as she likes with me."

A sob rose in her throat, and burning tears
blinded her. But she dashed them away when
she reached the level, and saw the thin line of
light which showed the entrance into her own
room, where she had left a candle burning. The
opposite panel flew open as she touched it; she
stooped and crept into the chapel.

It was dark, cold, and lonely; no friendly red
light in the seldom-used little sanctuary ; but the
window in the north wall was unshuttered, and let
in the pale glimmer of a sky lit by stars. Helene
had no difficulty in opening the wiiuUnv. though
its rusty hinges groaned. There was a quick,
loud rustling in the ivy beneath. Helene stepped
back with a slight scream as a hand shot suddenly
up and caught the sill; in another instant An-
gelot had climbed to the level of the window and
dropped on the brick floor. Helene was almost
m his arms, but she drew back and motioned
him away, remembering just in time that she was
angry.

" What is it ? " he said quickly. " Why — "
"How — how did you get here?" she stam-
mered. " I thought you were down in the moat."
" It is not the first time I have climbed the ivy,

If.

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; r. t

254 ANGELOT

as the owls might tell you." he said. " It is
easy the old trunk is as thick as my body, and
twists like a ladder. Helene! You are angry
with me! What hav« I done?"

He tried to take her hand, but she drew it from
him. He fell on his knees and kissed the hem
of her gown.
"Helene!"

She stood motionless, unable to speak. But
Angelot was not long to be treated in this chill-
ing fashion. It seemed that he had a good con-
science, and was not afraid to account for any of
his actions. He rose to his feet ; no words passed
between them ; but Helene resisted him no longer.
Her head was leaning on his breast ; a long, happy
sigh escaped her; and it was between kisses that
he asked her again, " Why are you angry with

me ? . »

" I am not — not now — I know it is not true,

she murmured.

" What, my beloved ? "

" You do care for me ? "

Angelot laughed. Indeed it did not seem neces-
sary to reassure her on such a point.

" Because, if you give me up, I shall die," she
said. *' I should have died, I think, if I had not
seen you to-night. Now they may say and do
what they please."

" What have they been saying and doing? Ah,
my sweet, how have they been tormenting you?
You are no happier than ^hen I saw you first,

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 255

though I love you so. How you tremble! Sit
down here — there, softly — you are quite safe.
What in God's name are we to do ? Must I leave
you again with these people? "

For a few minutes they sat in a comer of an
old carved bench under the window, one of the
family seats in those more religious days when
grandfathers and grandmothers came to the chapel
to pray. Helene leaned against Angelot,
clinging to him, and past his dark profile, dimly
visible in the twilight of stars, she could see the
roughly carved and painted figure of Our Lady,
brought from a Spanish convent and much ven-
erated by that Mademoiselle de Sainfoy who be-
came a Carmelite in the early days of the order.
Helene had fancied, before now, that there was
something motherly in the smile of the statue,
neglected so long. She thought, even as her
lover kissed her, that neither the Blessed Virgin,
nor St. Theresa, nor the ancestor who was her
disciple, would have been angry with her and
Angelot. Only her own mother, and she for
worldly reasons alone, would find any sin in this
sweet human love which wrapped her round,
which, if allowed to have its way, would shield
her from all the miseries of life and keep her in
the rapturous peace she enjoyed in this moment,
this fleeting moment, which she could not spoil
even by telling her Angelot why she sent for him.

" Ah, how I wanted you ! " she breathed in his
ear.

256

. ANGELOT

" My love ! But what — what are we to do ! "
he murnnired passionately; her feelings of rest
and peace and safety were not for him.

" Your father is very good, and loves you." he
said " At least we know that he will not have
vou "sacrificed. I will ask him. If he refuses —
then, mille tonnerres, I will carry you off nito
the woods, Helene."

" It is no use asking him, dearest, none, she
said. " Besides, you told them all that you did
not care for me."

She lifted her head, and tried to look mto his

"Ah, did they tell you that? Was that why
you were angry?" Angelot cried.

" Yes," she said ; " and now you had better ask
to be forgiven."

Indeed, as they both knew too well, there were
more serious things than kisses and loving words
to occupy that stolen half-hour. They had to tell
each other all — all they knew — and each be-
came a little wiser. Helene knew that General
Ratoneau had actually asked for her, and that her
father had refused to listen; thus realising that
her mother was deceiving her. and also that for
some hidden reason the plan seemed to Madame
de Sainfoy still possible. Angelot, even as they
sat there together, realised vividly that he was
living in a fool's paradise; that his love's confes-
sion to her mother had made things incalculably
worse, justifying all the stern treatment, the

^WP

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 257

violent means, which such a mother might think
necessary.

" She means to marry her to Ratoneau," he
thought, " and she will do it, unless Heaven in-
terferes by a miracle. Uncle Joseph is my only
friend, and he cannot help me — at least — if I
do not act at once, we are lost."

He lifted Helene's fair head a little, and its pale
beauty, in the dim gleam from the open window,
seemed to fill his whole being as he gazed. He
drew her towards him and kissed her again and
again ; it might have been a last embrace, a last
good-bye, but he did not mean it for that.

" Will you come with me now? " he said.

" Yes ! " Helene said faintly.

" Are you afraid ? "

" No " — she hesitated — " not with you. I
can be brave when I am with you — but when you
are not here — "

" They shall not part us again," Angelot said.

" But how are we to get out ? "

Though her lover was there, still holding her,
the girl trembled as she asked the question.

" I can unbar the door," he said. " Come to
the top of the stairs and wait there till I whistle ;
then come down to me."

This seemed enough for the moment, and the
wild fellow had no further plan at all. To have
her outside these prison walls, in the free air he
loved, under the trees in the starlight, to make a
right to her, as he vaguely thought, by running oflf

Ill

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258

ANGELOT

with her in this fashion — that was all that con-
cerned him at the moment. W'lierc was he to
take her? Would Uncle Joseph receive them?
Such thoughts just flashed through the tumult of
his brain, but seemed of no present importance.
Angelot was mad that night, mad with love of his
cousin, with the desperate necessity which needed
to be met by desperate daring.

Helene followed him, trembling very much, to
the top of the stairs.

" You have a candle there ? Fetch it for me,"
he said.

She obeyed him, slipping through the tapestry
into her own room. Once there, she looked round
with a wild wonder. Could this be herself —
Helene de Sainfoy — about to escape into the
wide world with her lover — and empty-handed ?
She looked down vaguely at her white evening
gown and thin shoes, snatched up her watch and
chain and a diamond ring, which were lying on
the table, and slipped them into her pocket. It
was the work of a moment, yet when she carried
the candle to Angelot, he was white as death, and
stamping with impatience; the flame in his eyes
frightened her.

He took the candle without a word and disap-
peared down the first steep winding of the stairs.
His moving shadow danced gigantic on the wall,
then was gone. Helene waited in the darkness.
Even love and faith, with hope added, were not
strong enough to keep her brave nxxd happy dur-

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 259

ing the terrible minutes of lonely waiting there.
Her limbs trembled, her heart thumped so that
she had to lean ior support against the cold
damp wall. She bent her head forward, eagerly
listening. Why had she not gone down with him ?
Somelx)dy might hear him whistle. However,
no whistle came; only a dull sound n/ banging,
which echoed strangely, alarmingly, up the nar-
row staircase in the ihickness of the wall.

It seemed to HtMene that she had waited long
and was becoming stupefied with anxiety, when
a light flashed suddenly upon her eyes, and
she opened them wide; she had never lost the
childish fear which made her shut them in the
dark. Angelot had leaped up the stairs again
and was standing beside her, white and frown-
ing.

" It is impossible." he said, in a hurried whis-
per. " I cannot move the bar without tools.
Come back into the chapel."

He set down the candlestick on the altar step,
walked distractedly to the .;..J or ihe low vaulted
room, then back to wlivc ■ iio st-.ud gazing at him
with a pitiful terror in her eye^^.

" What is to be done ! Is tiievc no ot .cr way ! "
he said, half to himself. • Mon : ■ f. Helens,
how beautiful you are! Ah, what ^s i'h^tf Lis-
ten ! "

His ears, quicker than her?, had r-uight steps
and a rustling sound in the passage t'm ended
at the chapel door.

M--

200

ANGELOT

1 ■:! ■

" Dear — go back to your room," he said.
" They must not find you here. We shall meet
again — Good-night, my own ! "

He was gone. The bewildered girl looked after
him silently, and he was across the floor, on the
window-sill, disappearing hand over head down
his ladder of old twisted ivy stems, before she real-
ised anything. Then, not the least aware that
some one was knocking at her bedroom door in the
passage, shaking the latcli. calling her name, she
flew after him to the window and leaned out, cry-
ing to him low and wildly. " Angelot. come
back, come back! Why did you go? Ah, don't
leave me ! Help me to climb down, too, — please,
please, darling! '

Angel* t was out of sight though not out of
hearing Forty feet of llii k ivy and knotted
stems, shelter of generations of owls, stretched
between the chapel window and the moat's green
floor; ivy two centuries old. the happy hunting-
ground of many a lad of Lancilly and La Mari-
niere. Put that night, perhaps, the hospitable
old tree reached the most romantic point of its
history.

Helene stretched down eager hands among
the thick leaves.

" Angelot ! Angelot ! "

She heard nothing but the rustling down be-
low, saw nothing but the tliick leaves under the
stars, though somebody had opened the chapel
door, and though her treacherous candle, throw-

PLAYED THE PART OF .>N OWL 261

ing a square of light upon the dark frees oppo-
site, showed not only her own imploriner shadow,
but that of a tall figure stepping up behind her.
In another moment her arm was seized in a grasp
by no means gentle, and she turned round with a
scream to face Madame de Sainfoy.

Her cry m'ght have stopped Angclot in his
swift descent and brought him to the window
again, but as he neared the ground he saw that
some one was waiting for him, some one stand-
ing on the flat grass, under the Hglit of such stars
as shone down into the moat, gazing with fixed
gravity at the window from which Helene was
leaning,

Angelot's light spring to the ground brought
him within a couple of yards of the moti(mless
figure, anrl his white face flushed red when he saw
that it was Helene's father. The few moments
during which he faced Comte Herve silently were
the worst his happy young Mfe had ever known.
The elder man did not speak till Helene, with that
last little cry, had disappeared from the window.
Then he looked at Angelot.

" I am sorry, Ange," he said, " for I ow« a
good deal to your father. But I will ask you to
wait here while I fetch my pistols. It is best
to settle such a matter on the spot — though you
hardly deserve to be so well treated."

" Monsieur — " Angelot almost choked.

" Ah! Do not trouble youi elf to hunt for ex-
cuses — there are none," said the Comte.

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(716) 288- 5989 -Fax

262

ANGELOT

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He was moving off, but Angelot threw him-
self in his way.

" Bring one pistol," he said. " One will be
enough, for I cannot fight you — you know it
But you may kill me if it pleases ycu."
Herve shrugged his shoulders.
"How long has this been going on? How
many times have you met my daughter clandes-
tinely? Does it seem to you the behaviour of a
gentleman? On my soul, you deserve to be shot
down like a dog, as yoU' say ! "

" No, monsieur," Angelot said quickly, " I give
you leave to do it, for I see now that life must be
misery. But I have done no such harm as to
deserve to be shot! No! I love and adore my
cousin, and you must have known it — every one
knows it, I should think. Can I sit quietly at
home while her family gives her the choice be-
tween General Ratoneau and a convent? No, I
confess it is more than I can bear."

" And if her family had given her such a choice
— which is false, by the bye — what could you
do? Is it likely that they would change their
minds and give her to you, as your uncle Joseph
suggested? And would you expect to gain their
favour by this sort of thing?" He pointed to
the window. "No, young man; if you were not
your father's son, my grooms might whip you out
of LanciUy, and I should feel justified in giving

the order." „ » • i

Angelot broke into a short laugh. A pistol-

Ill

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 263

shot is not an insult," he said, " But you are
angry."

" And you are Urbain's son," the Comte said.

There was a world of reproach in the words,
but little violent anger. The two men stood and
looked at each other; and it was not the least
strange part of the position that they were still,
as they had been all along, mutually attracted.
Both natures were open, sweet-tempered, and
generous. A certain grace and charm about
Herve de Sainfoy drew Angelot, as it had drawn
his father. The touch of romance in Angelot,
his beauty, his bold, defiant air, took Herve' s
fancy.

" You climb like a monkey or a sailor," he said.
" But you tried another exit, did you not ? Was
it you who was hammering at the door down
there?"

" Yes, monsieur."

" Tell me all."

The questions were severe, but Angelot an-
swered them frankly and truly, as far as he could
do so and take the whole blame upon himself.

" It was I," he said ; " I did the whole wrong,
if it was wrong. Do not let madame her mother
be angry with her. But for God's sake do not
make her marry Ratoneau. She is timid, she is
delicate — ah, monsieur — and we are cousins,
after all — "

There was a break in his voice, and the Comte
almost smiled.

ill

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264

ANGELOT

" You are a pair of very absurd and trouble-
some children," he said, much more kindly. " But
you are old enough to know better; it is igno-
rance of the world to think that lives can be ar-
ranged to suit private inclinations. I could not
give you my daughter, even if I wished it; you
ought to see, as your father would, that you are
not in a position to expect such a wife. You are
not even on my side in politics, though you very
well might be. If you were in the army, with even
the prospect of distingilishing yourself like Gen-
eral Ratoneau — and why not even now — "

It was a tremendous temptation, but only for a
moment. Angelot thought of his mother and of
his uncle Joseph.

" I cannot go into the army," he said quickly,

" No — you are a Chouan at heart, I know,"
said Herve.

He added presently, as the young man stood
silent and doubtful before him — " You will give
me your word of honour, Angelot, that there is
no more of this — that you do not attempt to
see my daughter again."

Angelot answered him, after a moment's pause,
" I warn you that I shall break my word, if I
hear more of Ratoneau."

" The devil take Ratoneau ! " replied his
cousin. " You will give me your word, and I will
give you mine. I will never consent to such a
marriage as that for Helene. Are you satisfied
now?"

PLAYED THE PART OF AN OWL 265

" You give me life and hope," said Angelot.

" Not at all. It is not for your sake, I assure
you."

Angelot s poor love went to bed that night in a
passion of tears. The time came for her to know
and confess that Angelot's father, when he barred
the postern door, might have had more than one
guardian angel behind him; but that time was
not yet.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME FROM SPAIN

III!

■I' .

The family scandal was great. Angelot, if
he had ever thought about such possibilities at all,
would never have imagined that his relations
could be so angry with him ; and this without ex-
ception. Monsieur de Sainfoy, the most entirely
justified, was by far the gentlest. Madame de
Sai foy's flame of furious wrath enveloped
every one. She refused at first even to see Mon-
sieur Urbain; she vowed that she would leave
Lancilly at once, take Plelene back to Paris, let
the odious old place fall back into the ruin from
which she wished it had never been rescued, shake
herself and her children free from the contact of
these low, insolent cousins who presumed so far
on their position, on the gratitude that might be
supposed due to them. Urbain, however, having
stuck to his point and obtained a private inter-
view with her, in which he promised that his son
should be sent away, or at least should annoy her
no more, her tone became a little milder and she
did not 'xisist on breaking up the establishment.
After all, Urbain pointed out, Tout va bien! It
was to be expected that an imperial order would

266

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 267

very soon decide Helene's future and check for
ever young Angelot's ambition. Madame de
Sainfoy perceived that it was worth while to
wait.

In the meantime, the philosopher's nature was
stirred to its depths. If it had not been for his
wife's strong opposition, he would hav ; insisted
on Angelot's accepting one of those commissions
which Napoleon was always ready to give to
young men of good family, sometimes indeed,
when the family was known to be strongly Royal-
ist, making them sub-lieutenants in spite of them-
selves and throwing them into prison if they
refused to serve. Anne would not have it. She
was as angry with Angelot as any one. That
he should not only have been taken captive, soul
and body, by Lancilly, but should have put him-
self so hopelessly in the wrong, filled her with
rage and grief. But she would not have matters
made worse by committing her boy to the Em-
pire. She would rather, as Monsieur Joseph
suggested, pack him off across the frontier to
join the army of the Princes. But then, again, his
father would never consent to that.

" Why do they not send the girl away ! " she
cried. " W^hy not send her to a Paris convent
till they find a husband for her ! We do not want
her here, with that pale face and those tragic
eyes of hers, making havoc of our young men.
I respect Herve for refusing that horrible Gen-
eral, but why does he not take means to find some

;■

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268

ANGELOT

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one else! They are beyond my understanding,
Herve and Adelaide. I wish they had never come
back, never brought that girl here to distract
my Angelot. He was free and happy till they
came. Ah, mon Dieul how they make me suf-
fer, these people ! "

" Do not blame them for Angelot's dishonour-
able weakness," said her husband, sternly. " If
your son had possessed reason and self-control,
which I have tried in vain all my life to teach
him, none of all this need have happened. There
is no excuse for him."

" I am making none. I am very angry with
him. I am not blaming your dear Sainfoys. I
only say that if they had never come, or if Provi-
dence had given them an ugly daughter, this
could not have happened. You will not try to
deny that, I suppose ! "

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

•' Your logic is faultless, my dear Anne. If you
had not married me, there would have been no
handsome boy to fall in love with a pretty girl.
And if La Mariniere had not been near Lan-

cilly — "
"Are you ever serious?" she said, and swept

out of the room.

His strong face was grave enough as he looked
after her.

But in Angelot's presenc there was no such
philosophical trifling. He was made to feel him-
self in deep disgrace with both his parents, and he

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 269

was younjT enoii^jh to feel it very keenly. After
the first tremendous scolding, they hardly spoke to
him ; he went in and out in a gloomy silence most
strange to the sunny life of La Mariniere. And
at Les Chouettes it was no better.

In truth. Angelot found his inicle Joseph's
deep displeasure harder to bear than that of any
one else. There was something clandestine about
the affair which touched the little gentleman's
sense of honour ; his code of manners and good
breeding w-as also offended. He knew life; his
own younger days had been stormy; and even
now, though respecting morality, he was not strict
or narrow. But such adventures as this of Ange-
lot's seemed to him on a lower plane of society
than belonged to Lancilly or La Mariniere. A se-
cret meeting at night; climbing ivy like a thief;
making use of his familiarity with the old house
to do what, after all. was an injury as well as an
offence to its owners, — all this was matter of
deep disgust to Monsi ur Joseph.

" I thought Ange was a gentleman ! " he said ;
and to Henriette, who with bitter tears confessed
to him her part in the story, he would not even
admire the daring spirit in which he and she had
often rejoiced together.

"Helene's fault, you say, child? No, we will
not make that excuse for him. If the poor girl
was unhappy, there were other ways — "

" But what could he have done, papa? Now
you are very unkind. If she asked him to come,

2/0

ANGELOT

W '

could he have said iio ? Is that the way for a gen-
tleman t« treat a lady?"

Rictte had posed him, and she knew it. But
she did not reap any personal advantage.

" As to that," he said, " the whole thing was
your fault. I did not send you to Lancilly to
carry messages, but to learn your lessons. What
did it matter to you if your cousin Helene was
unhappy ? In ♦his world we must all be unhappy
sometir-es, as you will find. Go to bed at once.
Consider yourself in disgrace. You will stay in
your room for two days on bread and water, and
you will not go to Lancilly agair for a long time,
perhaps never. I am sorry I ever sent you there,
but in future Mademoiselle Helene's affairs will
be arranged without you."

Riette went obediently away, shaking her
head. As she went upstairs she heard he^ father
calling to Marie Gigot, giving severe comniands
in a nervous voice, and she smiled faintly through

her tears.

" Nevertheless, little papa, we love our Ange,

you and I ! " she said.

Angelot wandered about solitary with his gun
and Nego, avoiding the Lancilly side of the
country, and keeping to his father's and his uncle's
land, where game abounded. For the present his
good spirits were effectually crushed; and yet,
even now, his native hopefulness rose and com-
forted him. It was true every one was angry;
it was true he had given his word of honour not

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME H JME 271

to attempt to see Helene. and at any moment her
future might be decided without liim ; but on the
other hi >d, her fatlier hatl prcjmired that she
should not marry Ratoneau ; and he and she. they
were both young, they loved each other; some-
how, some day, the future tould hardly fail to be
theirs.

In the meantime, Angelot was better off among
his woods and moorlands than Helene in her
locked room, all the old labyrinths and secret
ways discovered and stopped. The vintage was
very near, for the last days 01 September had
come. Again a young moon was rising over the
country, for the moon which lighted Helene to La
Mariniere on her first evennig in Anjou had
waned and gone. And the heather had faded, the
woods and copses began to be tinted with bronze,
to droop after ihe long, hot season, only broken
by two or three thunderstorms. The evenings
were drawing in. the mornings began to be chilly ;
autumn, even lovelier than summer in that climate
which has the seasons of the poets, was giving
a new freshness to the air and a nev colour to the
landscape.

One day towards evening Angelot visited La
Jou^ardiere. He went to the farm a good deal
at tnis time, for it was pleasant to see faces that
did not fr )wn upon him, but smiled a constant
welcome, and there was always the excuse of
talking to Joubard about the vintage. And
again, this evening, the Maitresse brought out a

2^2

ANGELOT

bottle of her best wine, and the two old people
talked of their son at the war; and all the time
they were very well aware that something was
wrong with Monsieur Angeloi, whom they had
known and loved from his cradle. The good
wife's eyes twinkled a little as she watched him,
and if nothing had happened later to distract her
thoughts, she would have told her husl>and that
the boy was in love. Joubard put down the young
master's strange looks to anxiety, not unfounded,
about his uncle Joseph and the Chouan gentle-
men. Since Simon's spying and questioning,
Joubard had taken a more serious view of these
matters.

" Monsieur Angelot has been at Les Chouettes
to-day ? " he said. " No ? Ah, perhaps it is as
well. There were two gentlemen shooting with
Monsieur Joseph — I think they were Monsieur
Jes Barres and Monsieur '"esar d'Ombre. A
little dangerous, such compmiy. Monsieur Joseph
perhaps thinks a young man is better out of
it."

Angelot did not answer, and turned the con-
versation baclv to the vintage,

" Yes, I believe it will be magnificent," said
the farmer. " If Martin were only here to help
me ! But it is hard for me, alone, to do my duty
by the vines. Hired labour is such a different
thing. I believe in the old rhyme : —

' L'ombre du bon mattre
Fait la vigne crottre I '

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 273

Mon.ieur y<n\r faiiicr explained to me the mean-
ing of it, that there niust l)e no trees m or near
the vineyard, no shadow hnt that of the master.
He found that in a h(>ok. he said. Surely, I
thoujrht. a man must have plenty of time on his
hands, to write n Ixx^k to prove what every
child knows. Xuw I take its meaning to W.
deeper than that. There is a shadow the vine
needs ap(l can't do without. You may talk as you
please vUit sun and air and showers; 'tis the
master's eye and hand and shadow that gives
growth and health to the vines."

"Don't forget the good Cod." said Maitresse
Joubard. "All the shadows of the best masters
won't do much without Him."

"Did I say so?" Her husband turned upon
her. " It is His will. T suppose, thtt things are so.
We must take His creation as w ind it. All I
say is. He gives me too much to d .vhen He sets
me on a farm with five sons and leaves me there
but takes them all away."

" Hush, hush, master; Martin will come back,"
his wife said.

Nearly a month ago she had said the same.
Angelot. standing again in the low dark kitchen
with her slender old glass in his hand, remem-
bered the day vividly, f(^r it had indeed been a
marked day in his life. The breakfast at Les
Chouettes. the hidden Chouans. General Ratoneau
and his adventure in the 1' le. and then the won-
derful moonlight evening, the coming of Helene,

■'■fl

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274

ANGELOT

the dreams which all that night waited upon her
and had filled all the following days. Yes ; it was
on that glorious morning that Maitresse Joubard,
poor soul, had talked with so much faith and
courage of her Martin's return. And Angelot,
for his part, though he would not for worlds
have said so, saw no hope of it at all. The last
letter from Martin had come many months ago.
The poor conscript, the young Angevin peasant,
tal! like his father, with his mother's quiet, dark
face, was probably lying heaped and hidden
among other dead conscripts at the foot of some
Spanish fortress wall.

Angelot set down his glass, took up his gun,
looked vaguely out of the door into the misty
evening, bright with the spiritual brilliance of
the yoimg moon.

"If Martin comes back, anything is possible,"
he was thinking. " I should believe then that all
would go well with me."

From the white, ruinous archway that opened
on the lane, a figure hobbled slowly forward
across the gleams and shadows of the yard. The
great dog chained there began to yelp and cry ; it
was not the voice with which he received a
stranger; Nego growled at his master's feet.

Angelot's gaze became fixed and intent. The
igure looked like one of those wandering beg-
gars, those chemineaux, who tramped the roads of
France with a bag to collect bones and crusts of
bread, the scraps of food which no good Christian

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 275

refused them, who haunted the lonely farms at
night and to whom a stray lamb or kid or chicken
never came amiss. This figure was ragged like
them; it stooped, and limped upon a wooden
leg and a stick ; an empty sleeve was pinned across
its breast. And the rags were those of a soldier's
uniform, and the dark, bent face was tanned by
hotter suns than the sun of Anjou.

Angelot turned to the old Joubards and tried to
speak, but his voice shook and was choked, and
the tears blinded his eyes.

" My poor dear friends — " he was beginning,
but Joubard started forward suddenly.

" What steps are those in the yard ? The dog
speaks — ah ! "

The old man rushed through the doorway with
arms stretched out, wildly sobbing, " Martin,
Martin, my boy ! " — and clasped the miserable
figure in a long embrace,

"Did I not say so. Monsieur Angelot?" the
little mother cried; and the young man, with a
sudden instinct of joy and reverence, caught her
rough hand and kissed it as she went out of the
door. " Tell madame she was right," she said.

Angelot called Nego and walked silently away.
As he went he heard their cries of welcome, their
sobs of grief, and then he heard a hoarse voice
ringing, echoed by the old walls all about, and it
shouted — " Vive I'Empereur ! "

Angelot felt strangely exalted as he walked
away. The heroism of the crippled soldier

U .

276

ANGELOT

touched him keenly ; this was the Empire in a dif-
ferent aspect from any tliat lie yet knew ; the op-
portunism of his father and of Monsieur de
]\Tauves, the bare worldliness of the Sainfoys,
the military brutality of Ratoneau. The voice of
this poor soldier, wanderinjj back, a helpless, des-
titute wreck, to end his days in his old home,
sounded like the bugle-call of all that generous
self-sacrifice, that pure enthusiasm for glory,
which rose to follow Napoleon and made his
career possible. Angelot felt as if he too could
march in such an army. Then as he strode down
the moor he heard Herve de Sainfoy's voice
again: "And why not even now?" and again
he thought of those dearest ones now so angry
with him, whose loyalty to old France and her
kings was a part of their religion, and whom no
present brilliancy of conquest and fame could
dazzle or lead astray.

Thinking of these things, Angelot came down
from the moor into a narrow lane which skirted
it, part of the labyrinth of crossing ways which
led from the south to La Mariniere and Lancilly.
This lane was joined, some way above, by the
road which led across the moor from Les
Chouettes. It was not the usual road from the
south to Lancilly, but turned out of that a mile or
two south, to wander westward round one or two
lonely farms like La Joubardiere. It ran deep be-
tween banks of stones covered with heather and
ling and a wild mass of broom and blackberry

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 277

bushes tl,c great round heads of the nollard
-•'s r,s,„g a. intervals, so that there^^^e e
patches of dark shadow, and the road itself was
a succession of formidable ruts and holes and
enormous stones. "

In this thoroughfare two carriages had met
one gomg down-hill fr„„, ,he moorlfnd road.The

from th, 1' r'"'-''"''= ^">' "'''■ ^l™Wng
from the .south. It was impossible for either con

went on first between the post-boy and the

four-wheeled conveyance of the country, next be-
tween the travellers themselves

hJ^Tui '!™f ''™" '*•"" "'« ^'^^P footpath
by wh,ch he had crossed the moor, just as theV

cupant of the post-chaise, after shouting angr'y
from the wmdow, had got out to see thf stafe o^
hmgs for htmself. He was a stranger to Ange
lot: a tall and very handsome younf man of fs
own age, w,th a travelling cloak thrown over ht
showy uniform.

"What the devil is the matter? Why don't
you dr,ve on, you fool? " he said to the post-boy,
who only gesticulated and pointed hopdessly to
the obstacle m front of him.

" Well but drive through them, or over them
or something," cried the imperious young vofc"'

at them? What ,s .t? Some kind of dffi„„ J
Look here, fellow -you, driver -get out of

278

ANGELOT

my way, can't you ? Mille tonnerres, what a road !
Get down and take your horse out, do you hear ?
Lead him up the bank, and then drag your
machine out of the way. Any one with you?
Here is a man ; he can help you. Service of the
Emperor; no delay."

Apparently he took Angelot, in the dusk, for a
country lad going home. Before there was time
to show him his mistake, a dark, angry face bent
forward from the hooded carriage, and Angelot
recognised the Baron d'Ombre, who gave his or-
ders in a tone quite as peremptory, and much
haughtier.

" Post-boy ! Back your carriage down the hill.
"Vbu see very well that there is no room to pass
here. Pardon, monsieur ! " with a slight salute
to the officer.

" Pardon! " he responded quickly. " Sorry to
derange you, monsieur, but my chaise will not
be backed. Service of His Majesty."
" That is nothing to me, monsieur."
"The devil! Who are you then ? "
" I will give you my card with pleasure."
Cesar d'Ombre descended hastily from the
carriage, while Monsieur des Barres, who was
with him, leaned forward rather anxiously.

" Explain the rule of the road to this gentle-
man," he said. " He is evidently a stranger. I
see he has two servants behind the carriage, who
can help in backing the horses. Explain that it is
no intentional discourtesy, but a simple necessity.
The delay will be small."

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 279

The tall young stranger bowed in the direction
of the voice.

" Merci. monsieur. Your rules of the road do
not concern me. I give way to no one — cer-
tamly not to your companion, who appears to be
disloyal. I had forgotten, for a moment, the char-
acter of this country. The dark ages still flourish
here, I believe."

The Baron d'Ombre presented his card with a
low bow.

" Merci, monsieur. Permit me to return the
compliment. But it is almost too dark for you to
see my name, which ought to be well known here.
De Samfoy, Captain 13th Chasseurs, at your
service. Will you oblige me — "

" Ic is not necessary at this moment, monsieur.
\ou will not meet me at the Chateau de Lan-
cilly."

"But you may possibly meet me — Vicomte
des Barres-for your father and I sometimes
put our old acquaintance before politics — " cried
the voice from the carriage. " You will be very
welcome to your family. But this arranges mat-
ters, Monsieur le Capitaine, for you are on the
wrong road."

" Sapristi ! The wrong road ! Why, I picked
up a wounded fellow and brought him a few
miles. He got down to take a short cut home
and told me the next turn to the right would
bring me to Lancilly. He was lying, then? A
fellow called Joubard, not of my regiment."

28o

ANGELOT

•i L

■m

IF*

■■; i .

" What do you say ? " said d'Ombre to Ange-
lot, who had already greeted him. Hngering in
the background to see the end of the dispute.

Georges de Sainfoy now first looked at the
sportsman standing by the roadside, and Angelot
looked at him. Monsieur des Barres, a little stiflF
from a long day's shooting — for he was not
so lithe and active as his host, and not ro young
as the Baron — now got down from the carriage
and joined the group.

" Bonjour, Monsieur Ange," he said kindly.
" You have been shooting, I see, but not with
your uncle. Have you met before, you two?"
He glanced at Georges de Sainfoy, who stared
haughtily. Even in the dim dusk Angelot could
see that he was wonderfully like his mother.

" No, monsieur," he answered. " Not since
twenty years ago, at least, and I think my cousin
remembers that time as little as I do."

He spoke carelessly and lightly. De Sainfoy's
fine blue eyes considered him coldly, measured his
height and breadth and found them wanting.

"Ah! You are a La A.ariniere, I suppose?"
he said.

" Ange de la Mariniere, at your service."

Georges held out his hand. It was with an
oddly unwilling sensation that Angelot gave his.
Though the action might be friendly, there was
something slighting, something impatient, in the
strrnger's manner; and the cousins already dis-
liked each other, not yet knowing why.

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 281

" Are my family well ? Do they expect me? "
said Georges de Sainfoy.

" I believe they are very well. I do not know if
they expect you," Angelot answered.

"Is it true that this is not the road to Lan-
cilly? "

D'Ombre growled something about military
msolence, and Monsieur des Barres laughed.

"Pardon, gentlemen," said De Sainfoy "I
am impatient, I know. A soldier on his way home
does not expect to be stopped by etiquettes about
passmg on the road. My cousin knows the coun-
try ; I appeal to him, as one of you did just now.
Is this the way to Lancilly, or not ? "
^^ngelot laughed. " Yes - and no," he said.

What do you mean by that.? Come, I am in
no humour for joking,"

Angelot looked at him and shrugged his shoul-
ders.

" It is a road, but not the road," he said. " No
one in his senses would drive this way to Lanci' r
This part of it is bad enough ; further on, wh e
>t goes down into the valley, it is much worse;
1 doubt tf a heavy carriage could pass. You
turned to the right too soon. Martin Joubard
forgot this lane, perhaps. He would hardly have
directed you this way — unless — "

" Unless what ? "
Unless he wished to show you the nature of
the country, in case you should think of invading
It in force." ^

282

ANGELOT

lii

rns

I 'I

The two Chouans laughed.
" Well said, Angelot! " muttered Cesar d'Om-
bre.

Georges de Sainfoy, stiff and haughty, did not
trouble himself ab ut any jest or earnest concealed
under his cousin's speech and the way the neigh-
bours took it. He realised, perhaps, that in this
wild west country the name of Mapoleon was not
altogether one to conjure with, that he had not
left the enemies of the Empire behind .lim in
Spain. But he realised, too, that this was hardly
the place or the time to assert his own importance
and his master's authority.

"Do you mean that this road is utterly im-
passable? " he said to Angelot. " How then did
these gentlemen — "

" They did not come from Lancilly. They
drove across the moor from my uncle's house, Les
Chouettes, and turned into the lane a few hun-
dred yards higher up. As to impassable — I
think your wheels will come off, if you attempt
it, and your horses' knees will suffer. Where the
ruts are not two feet deep, the bare rock is
almost perpendicular."

" Still it if. not impassable ? "

" Not ill a case of necessity. But you will not
attempt it."

" And wny not?"

" Because on this hill Monsieur des Barres and
Monsieur d'Ombre cannot back out of your way,
and you can back out of theirs — and must."

HOW TWO SOLDIERS CAME HOME 283

Must ' to me! " Georges de Sainfoy said be-
tween his t-^eth.

" Let us assure you. monsieur, that we regret
the necessity-" Monsieur des Barres interfered
m his pohtest manner.
" Enough, monsieur."

De Sainfoy gave his orders. His servants
sprang down and helped the post-boy to back the
horses to the foot of the hill. It was a long busi-
ness. w,th a great deal of kicking, struggling,
scrambhng, and swearing. Monsieur des Barres'
carnage followed slowly, he and Georges de Sain-
foy walkmg down together. The Baron d'Ombre
lingered to say a frienJly good-night to Angelot
who was not disponed to wait on his cousin any
further. That night there was born a kind of
sympathy new and strange, between the fierce
yoi.ig Chouan and the careless boy still halting
between tv/o opinions.

" Old Joubard'i, son is come back, then ? " Cesar
asked. " Will that attach the old man to the Em-

Zlu ^T. T'^' '"" "'"^^ ^^" "^ °" ^vhich
side he is likely to be."

^^ '' Dame! I should think not! " said Angelot.

Poor Martin -I saw hiin just now. He has
lett a leg and an arm in Spain."

"Poor fellow! That flourishing cousin of
yours IS better ofif. On my word, we are obliged
to you, Monsieur des Barres and I. If you had
not been there to bring him to his senses -
C^ome, Angelot, this country is not a place for

I^SCTCT

liji'll?

284

ANGELOT

loyal men. Do vou care to stay here and be bul-
lied by upstart soldiers? Start off with me to
join the Princes; there is nothing to be done

here." . , .,

" Ah ! " Angelot laughed, though rather sadly.

"Indeed, you tempt me — it is true, there is
nothing here. But I have a father, and he has a
vintage coming on. After that -I will con-
sider."

" Yes, consider — and say nothing. I see you
are discontented ; the first step in the right way.
(iood-night, my friend."

If discontent had been despair, the army of the
emigrants might have had a lively recruit in
those days. But Martin Joubard had come back,
so that anything seemed possible. Hope was not
dead, and his native Anjou still held the heart
of Angelot.

CHAPTER XVIII

HOW CAPTAIN GEORGES PAID A VISIT OF
CEREMONY

Georges de Sainfoy had always been his
mother's image and idol. It was not wonderful
then that lie should take her side strongly in this
matter of his sister's love affair and marriage.

Helene, foi him. was a poor pretty fool just
out of the schoolroom, who must learn her duty
in life, and the sooner the better. Angelot was a
country boy, his pretensions below contempt,
who yet deserved sharp punishment for lifting
his eyes so high, if not for the cool air of equality
with which he had ordered back his superior
cousin's carriage. General Ratoncc-i, in a sol-
dier's eyes, was a distinguished man, a future
Marshal of France. Nothing more was needed
to make him a desirable brother-in-law. Geerges
was enthusiastic on that point.

Two things there were, which his mother im-
pressed upon him earnestly and with difficulty;
one, that Ratoneau's probable triumph was a
secret, and must seem as great a surprise to her-
self and to him as it r^'-^lv would be to Helene
and his father; the . that for the sake of

il''

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11 '

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286

ANGFXOT

Urbain de la Mariiiiore. the valuable friend, he
must pick uu frcsli (|uarrcl with Angclut, already
deep in disfjrace with all the family.

*• It IS as well that you told nie, or I should have
l)een tempted to try a horse-whipping," said Cap-
tain Georges.

Two (lays after his arrival he rode off to Son-
nay-le-Loir. It was the riglU thing for an officer
on leave to pay a visit of cremony to the (ieneral
in command of the division, at well as to the Pre-
fect of the department, and this necessity came
in very well at the moment.

Madame de Sainfoy spoke confidently, but she
was in reality not (piite easy in her mind, ^lie
had seen and heard n(;thing of General Ratoneau
since the day when Urbain put his short letter
into her hand. Sometimes, impatient and anx-
ious, worried by Helene's pale face and the fear
of some soft-hearted weakness on Herves part,
she found it difficult to bear day after day of sus-
pense and silence. Suppose the afifair v/ere going
ill, and not well I Suppose that, after all, the Pre-
fect had refused to gratify the General, and that
no imperial command was coming to break down
Herve's resistance, strong enough in that quarter I
Georges i:iomised her. as he rode away, that the
matter should be cleared up to her satisfaction.

He found the town of Sonnay-le-Loir, and Gen-
eral Ratoneau bin elf, in a state of considerable
agitation. The excellent Prefect was very ill.
He was never a strong man physically, and the

A VISIT OF CEREMONY 287

nervous irritation caused by such a colleague as
kat(.neau inij^ht have been partly the cause of
his present collapse. Sorely ajjainst his will he
had listened to Ratoneau's fresh arputnent. and
had consented to stop a whole string ' i^olitiial
arrests by forwarding the marriage the (ieneral
had set his heart upon. His own personal dan-
ger, if he had defied the General, would hive
been by no means small. Simon was right;
Ratoneau could have represented his mild meas-
ures in such a light as to ruin him, along with
those Angevin gentlemen whom he was trying by
gentle Dieans to reconcile with the Empire. At
that precise moment he could not even punish the
man he suspected o. I)etraying him. Ratoneau
had protected his tool so far as to leave him
nameless; but in any case, froir, the imperial point
of view, a man who de ounceil '"houans was do-
ing his duty. As to the fac. of sending up
Mademoiselle de Sainfoy's name to the Emperor
and suggesting for her the very husband whom
her father had refused to accept — the chief sin,
in the eyes of that day, was the unfriendly action
towards her father.

T!ie whole system was odious; it appeared
more or less so, according to the degree of refine-
ment in the officials who had to work it; yet it
came from the Emperor, and could not be entirely
set aside; also every marriage, in one way or
another, was an arranged thing; it must suit
family politics, if not the interests of the Em-

Ml
■• ■-itj

!?■'

a!- ;'';|sj

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288

ANGELOT

pire. Nothing strange from the outside — and
all the world would look at it so — in the mar-
riage of the Comte de Sair ' y's daughter with
the local General of division. The lady's unwill-
ingness was a mere detail, of which the laws of
society would take no cognizance. The senti-
mental view which called such a marriage sacri-
lege was ahsurd. after all, and the Prefect knew
it. Indeed, after the first, the thought of Helene's
face did not trouble him so much as that of the
coup de pattc in store for her father, the stealthy
blow to come from himself, the old, the trusted
fellow-countryman.

But the injury to Herve de Sainfoy weighed
lightly, after all, when balanced with the arrest
and ruin of Joseph de la Mariniere and possibly
his young nephew, as well as of Monsieur des
Barres, Monsieur de Bourmont, the Messieurs
d'Ombre, and other men more or less suspected
of conspiring against the Empire. Even if this,
perhaps deserved, had been all! but the Pre-
fect knew very well that an enemy such as
Ratoneau would not be satisfied without his
own degradation.

He had yet one resource, delay. There was
the chance that Herve de Sainfoy might arrange
some other marriage for his daughter; and the
Prefect went so far as to consider the possibility
of sending him a word of warning, but then
thought it too dangerous, not quite trusting
Herve's discretion, and gave up the idea. From

' 'f -,-■,-. ..

A VISIT OF CEREMONY

289

day to day he put off sending the necessary papers
to Paris. From clay to day, after the eventful
interview, he managed to avoid any private con-
versation with Rat(jneau. This was possible,
as the General was occupied in reviewing the
troops in the neighbourhood, and was absent
from Sonnay for several days. Then a new ally
stepped in on Helene's side, and touched the
Prefect gently, but effectively. When General
Ratoneau returned to Sonnay, the very day be-
fore Georges de Sainfoy's visit, he was met by the
news that a slight stroke of paralysis had de-
prived Monsieur de Mauves of his speech, and
of the use of his right hand. Going at once to
the Prefecture, roughly demanding an interview
with the Prefect, he encountered a will stronger
than his own in that of the Sonnay doctor, who
absolutely refused to let any one into the sick-
room.

" But he must have written to Paris — he must
— he promised me that he would," Ratoneau as-
sured Georges de Sainfoy, who stood before him
frowning doubtfully. " He dared not disap-
point me. I have him under my thumb, I tell
you — like that — " he crushed a fly on the
table.

"I see — but why all this delay?" said the
young man.

Ratoneau drummed with his fist and whistled.
" Delay, yes — " he said. " I meant Monsieur le
Prefet to give an account of himself yesterdav

! ^'^!

iiii

290

ANGELOT

M''

J-

I suppose I am as impatient as you are — " he
grinned. " After all, monsieur, this official busi-
ness takes time, Jt is only a fortnight since I
brought the good man to his marrow-bones. Ah,
I wish you had seen him! the grimaces he made!
When I went first he defied me, as bold as you
please. Your father was his friend, he would do
nothing to annoy your father. Then, when I
went back with a little more information, he be-
gan to 'K'z all his beloved Chouans in prison, as
well as himself. I had him then. He began to
see, perhaps, that a man in my position wa' 3t
such an impt)ssible husband for a young gin of
good family. Ha, ha ! "

" A fortnight seems to me quite long enough
to write to Paris and get an answer," said
Georges.

He was a little sorry for himself. He wished
he had seen Ratoneau for the first time on
horseback, a smart, correct officer, reviewing his
troops. Then it would have been easy enough
to accept him as a brother-in-law. But this red-
faced, slovenly creature in careless undress, made
even more repulsive by his uncanny likeness to
Napoleon — vulgar in manners, bragging in talk !
De Sainfoy had met strange varieties of rr-en
among his brother officers, but never anything
quite so forbidding as this. He did not give his
sister a thought of pity ; it was not in him ; but
he had a moment of sympathy with his father,
of surprise at his mother. However, he was not

A VISIT OF CEREMONY

291

the man to be conquered by prejudice. If the
affair was disagreeable, all the more reason to
push it through (juickly, to reach any advantages
it might bring. His smooth young brow had a
new line across it ; that was all.

" You talk of the Prefect's ' l>eloved Chouans,'
Monsieur le General," he said. "It seems to
me that in any case he is not fit for his posi-
tion. It sounds like treason, what you say."

" Ah ! that is another (luestion," said Ratoneau.
"That need not concern us just now, you and
me. He must do what we want, first of all ; later
on we shall see. Remember, Monsieur le Vi-
comte, any active measures against the Chouans
would touch your family — your connections, at
least. Very complicated, the state of society in
this province. I wish for nothing better than to
sweep out all these tiresome people, but it be-
hoves me to move gently."

Georges could not help -.liling. "That must
be against your principles and your inclinations,
Monsieur le Gt'ieral."

"It is against my interests," Ratoneau said,
drily enough. " Inclinations — well, yes. I
should be sorry to annoy Monsieur Urbain de la
Mariniere, who is on my side in these affairs. He
is a sensible man. His brother's right place is
in a state prison. As to that son of his — well,
he wants a sharp lesson, and one of these days he
will have it. He is an impudent young scoun-
drel, that little La Mariniere."

■:',^^--

292

ANGELOT

M^f^

"f ..i

?P- : ^

V h

J \

Ratoneau lifted his dark eyes and looked
straight at Georges, who flushed under his gaze.

" But perhaps you think better of your
cousin ? " the General said.

" No — I dislike him. He is a presumptuous
fellow."

" Presumptuous in what way? "

Georges shrugged his shoulders. There were
limits to the complaisance he found due to this
future relation; the family secrets, the family
confidences, though they might indirectly concern
him, should at least be kept from him f^r the
present. Georges knew all his sister's stoiy, as
far as her mother knew it. The story was safe,
though out of no 1 'ndness to Helene.

"He thinks too much of himself," said
Georges, and laughed rather awkwardly. " He
orders his betters about as if he were the chief
landowner of the country, instead of a farmer's
son. This happened to me the other night, Mon-
sieur le General,"

He went on to describe his adventure in the
steep lane, and how Angelot had ordered his men
to back the horses. The General listened with
some impatience.

" Sapristi ! he is a hero of the lanes, this An-
gelot. I have had my experience, too," but
he did not describe it. " He will make himself
plenty of enemies, that cousin of yours. How-
ever, let him swagger as he likes among horses
and cows, till h- finds himself between four walls

A VISIT OF CEREMONY 293

with his friends the Chouans. I should like to
be assured that his airs will carry him no fur-
ther. To speak plainly, Monsieur le Vicomte
when I saw them together at Lancilly, I fancied
that he and mademoiselle your sister — I see by
your face that I was right! "

The General started up with an oath. Georges
faced him, cool and dignified.

" My sister is safe in my mother's care, Mon-
sieur le General. Do not disturb yourself."

" But do you know, monsieur, that the servants
thought the same as I did ? "

" What can that signify to you or to me, mon-
sieur?

Ratoneau flung himself back into his chair
with an angry laugh. The proud disgust of the
young captain's tone had a certain effect upon
him; yet he was not altogether reassured.

"Will you tell me on your honour," he
growled, " that you knew nothing of any love
affair between that young cub and your sister?
I swear, sir, I distrust you all. It is your mother's
interest to marry her to me, but "

"The imperial order has not yet been sent
down," said Georges, his blue eyes flashing like
steel.

He would have said more; he did not know
wnat he might have said, for at that moment his
sympathy with his father was growing by leaps
and bounds, and his mother's plan began to seem
incomprehensible. However, to do her justice

294

ANGELOT

■ '<•

* !

she had never seen General Ratoneau as he saw
him.

" What do you mean by that? " said Ratoneau,
sharply, and Georges found himself already re-
penting.

For the thing had to be carried through, and he
knew it.

Further argument was stopped, at that mo-
ment, by a gentle tap at the door.

" Come in ! " roared the General. " What the
devil have you got there, Simon? "

The police agent stepped lightly across the
room. He laid a folded paper on the table, and
drew out from between its pages an unsealed
letter. He spread this out with the signature up-
permost, " De Motives, Prefet du Loir."

Georges de Sainfoy, a silent looker-on, stood
by the chimneypiece while General Ratoneau
eagerly seized the papers. He first read the let-
ter, which seemed to give him satisfaction, for he
laughed aloud; then he snatched up the larger
document, which looked like a government report
of some kind. Simon, in his gendarme's dress,
stood grinning in the background.

" But — but in the name of thunder what does
all this mean ? " Ratoneau's looks had changed to
sudden fury. "Are these copies or originals?
Simon, you ass, do you mean to tell me — "

Simon shrugged his shoulders and showed his
teeth.

" Sorry, Monsieur le General, but no fault of

A VISIT OF CEREMONY 295

mine I I made sure they had gone to Paris by
the last courier, if not before. The originals
undoubtedly."

" You make sure in a queer sort of way." said
Ratoneau. " You told me the Prefect's secretary
was m your hands, that you had access to his
bureaux at any time. You lied, then ? "

" No, Monsieur le General," Simon answered
gently and readily. " Or how should I have got
hold of the papers ? We have nothing to do now
but to get them dispatched at once to the Minister
of Police, who will pass them on to Monsieur le
Due de Frioul."

"Go downstairs, and wait till I send for you."

Simon went, not without a side-glance at the
silent young officer, standing tall, fair, and stiff
as if on parade, no feeling of any sort showing
Itself through the correctness of his bearing.

" Is that her brother .? Curious ! " the spy mut-
tered as he slipped away.

General Ratoneau ran his eye once more over
the paper in his hand, then looked at Georges and
held it out to him.

" The delay is vexatious," he said, " and my
friend the Prefect shall pay for it, one of these
days. But at any rate, the thing is now in our
own hands, and there can be no cheating. Report
and letter are what they should be — 1 mio-ht
have guessed that the old villain would put^'off
sending them — hoping for some loophole, I
suppose. However, you can tell Madame la

296

ANGELOT

Comtesse that you have seen the docuiients, and
that they start for Paris to-night."

Georges de Sainfoy read tlie document, truly a
strange one, and it was a strange sort of man
who had the effrontery to put it into his hand.
Like a flash of blinding light, it showed the revo-
lutionary, the tyrannical side of the Empire
which had fascinated him on its side of military
glory.

This paper gave a full description, as officially
demanded, of Mademoiselle Helene de Sainfoy,
aged nineteen. It mentioned her personal attrac-
tions, her education distinguce, her probable
dowry, the names and position of her parents,
the extent and situation of her property —
in short, every particular likely to be useful in
arranging a marriage for Mademoiselle de Sain-
foy. It was all highly complimentary, and it was
supposed to be a confidential communication from
the Prefect to Savary, Due de Rovigo. the Minis-
ter of Police. P>ut it was not pleasant reading for
Mademoiselle de Sainfoy's brother, however de-
votedly imperialist he might be.

He stepped forward and laid it on the table
without a remark. Ratoneau, watching him
keenly, smiled, and held out the letter.

" A private letter from Monsieur le Prefet? I
do not read it," said Georges, shortly.

" As you please, my friend," said Ratoneau.
" T only show you these things for the satisfaction
of Madame la Comtesse. Monsieur Urbain de la

A VISIT OF CEREMONY 297

Mariniere may be interested, too The letter
mentions my cii.,tinguishe(l claims on His Majesty,
and suggests me as a husband for mademoiselle!
That is all. I think it will be effectual. But now,
monsieur, you have not answered my little ques-
tion about your cousin Angelot. He is in love
with your sister, n'est-ce pas ? "

" As you put it so, monsieur, I think it is not
unlikely," said Georges. " But what does that
signify? Every one knows it is an impossibility,
even himself, ambitious fool as he may be."

"And the young lady?" said Ratoneau, his
face darkening.

"My mother answers for her," Georges an-
swered coldly, and bowed himself out.

He had information enough to carry back to
his mother.

He was not too comfortable in his mind, having
ideas of honour, at the unscrupulous doings by
which Helene's future husband was protecting
his own interests and bringing his marriage
about. He rather wished, though he worshipped
power, that this _ owerful General had been a dif-
ferent sort of man.

" Still he may make her a good husband," he
thought. " He is jealous alread}-."

He rode across the square, gay and stately in
his Chasseur uniform, and dismounted at the Pre-
fecture to leave his card and to enquire for Mon-
sieur de Mauves.

Ratoneau watched him from the window with

[iri

298

ANGELOT

a dissatisfied frown, then rang sharply for
Simon.

** That young fellow would turn against me on
small provocation," he said. " Now — as to the
seal for these papers — you can procure that, I
suppose?"

" Leave that to me, monsieur."

" Another thing : thi? means further delay,
and I am aot sure that you were entirely wrong
about young La Mariniere. Listen. He would
be better out of the way until this affair i: set-
tled. He has been met in company with known
Chouans. A word to the wise, Simon. Devise
something, or go to the devil, for I've done with
you."

" But there is nothing easier, monsieur !
Nothing in the world! " Simon cried joyfully.

3 ^

CHAPTER XIX

THE TREADING OF TFIE GRAPES

The weather for the vintage was splendid. A
slight frost in the morning curled and yellowed
the vine-leaves, giving, as it does in these prov-
inces, the last touch of ripeness to the grapes, so
that they begin to burst their thin skins and to
drop from the bunches. This is the perfect mo-
ment. Crickets sing; the land is alive with soring-
ing grasshoppers ; harmless snakes rustle through
the grass and bask in the v. arm sand. The sun
shines through an air so light, so crystal clear,
that men and beasts hardly know fatigue, though
they work under his beams all day long. The
evening closes early with hovering mists in the
low places, the sudden chill of a country still
wild and half-cultivated. This was the moment,
in an older France, chosen for the Seigneur's vin-
tage ; the peasants had to deal with their own little
vineyards either earlier or later, and thus their
wine was never so good as his.

The laws of the vintage were old; they were
handed down through centuries, from the days of
the Romans, but the Revolution swept them and
their obligations away. Napoleon's code knew

299

i.ii

300

ANGELOT

:4t

nothing of them. Yet private in(livi<luals, when
they vv^rc clever men like Urbain de la Mariniere,
were sure by hiMik or by crook to arrange the
vintage at the time tliat suited their private ar-
rangements. The ancient connection, once of
lord and vassal, now of landlord and tenant, be-
tween La Mariniere and La Joubardierc, had lieen
hardly at all disturbed by the Revolution. Jou-
bard was not the man to turn against the old
friends of his family. Besides, he believed in the
waning moon. So vvlicn Monsieur Urbain hit on
the precise uK^ment for his own vintage, and sum-
moned him and his people, as well as Monsieur
Josejili's people, to help at La Mariniere and to
let their own vineyards wait a week or two, he
made no grievance of it.

" The weather will h"!," '.'' said, »vhen Martin
grumbled, " and the moon will be better. Be-
sides, those slopes are always forwarder than ours.
And we shall lose nothing by helping the master.
But if we did. I would rather spoil my own wine
than disappoint Monsieur Angelot."

** You and the mother are in love with his
pretty face." growled the soldier. " Why doesn't
he go to the war. and fight for his country, and
come home a fine man like his cousin? Ah, you
think there are different ways of coming home,
do you? Well, if you ask me. T am prouder of
my lost limbs than the young captain is of his
rank and his uniform."

** And Monsieur Angelot hono-ars you, poor

J^'"^' „.

THE TRF.ADINT. OF TUE GRAPHS

301

Martii

than h

more .,,..,1 m- does mis smart .,,....„
sa.d J,>ul,an|. "Allans! Our vintaKe will not
suffer. n..w that you are at li.mie t<. see to it
AtuI they will „ot take y.ni away ajrajn. my sen ! '•
So. m those first days of OctoLer, the vintage
was m full swinjf at La Marinierc. All the
peasants came to help, men and women, old and
yoiinjr. Dark, grave faces that matched oddiv
with a halH.'! of voices and gay laughter; hroad
straw hats as sunburnt as their owners, white
caps, blue shoulders, hol.bjng among the long
rows of br<.n;^ed vines loaded with fruit The
vintagers cut off the bunches with sharp k.iives
and dropped them into wooden pails; these were
emptied into great hotfcs on men's backs, and
earned to the carts, full of barrels, waiting in the
lane. Slowly the i)atient white horses tramped
'lown to the yard of La Mariniere. There, in its
own whitewashed building with the wide-arched
door, the st(;ne wine-i)ress was rea.ly ; the grapes
were thrown in in heaps, the barefooted men,
splashed red to their waists, trod and crushed
• with a swishing sound ; the red juice ran down
m a stream, foaming into the vault beneath, into
the vats where it was to ferment and become
wine.

Angelot worked in the vineyard like anvbody
e ^e, sometimes cutting grapes, sometimes leading
the carts up an<l down, and feeding the horses
with bunches of grapes, which they munched ---
tentedly. So

the dogs who waited on i

lie

302

ANGELOT

-i 1,:^

Mil

»j 1 ■

•■'Mi 1.

JJ ^if

vintagers, not daring to venture in among the
vines, but sitting outside with eager eyes and
wagging tails till their portion of fruit was thrown
to them. And the workers themselves, and the
little bullet-headed boys and white-capped girls
who played about the vineyard, all ate grapes
to their satisfaction; for the crop was splendid,
and there was no need to stint anybody.

A festal spirit reigned over all. Though most
of these people were good Christians, ready to
thank God for His gifts without any intention
of misusing them, there was something of the
old pagan feeling about. Purely a country feel-
ing, a natural religion much older than Chris-
tianity, as Urbain remarked to the old Cure, who
agreed with Madame Urbain in not quite caring
for this way of looking at it. But he was accus-
tomed to such views from Urbain, who never, for
instance, let the Rogation processions pass sing-
ing through the fields without pointing out their
descent from something ancient, pagan, devilish.

" But if you have cast out the devil, dear Cure,
what does it matter ? " said Urbain. " The beauty
alone is left. And all true beauty is good by
nature; and what is not beautiful is not good.
You want nothing more, it .^eems to me."

" Ah, your philosophies! " sighed the old man.

However, in different ways, the vintage at-
tracted everybody. Monsieur Joseph and Henri-
ette were there, very busy among the vines ; these
people would help them another day. A party

'AHm 1. Kisimfm:gK

C«kJX^v^^W4

.Jjgg- ^m-.

■ luLwl^oi^'^asidLr

sidJlm^:

-tr::.

THE TREADING OF THE GRAPES 303

strolled across from Lancilly; Monsieur and
iv.adame de Sainfoy, idly admiring the pretty
scene; Cr.;/;ain Georges, casting superior glances,
^-ophie .-ud Lucie hanging on their splendid
b. other's looks and words. They were allowed
to walk with him, and were verv happy, Made-
moiselle Moineau having been left behind in
charge of Helene. The La Mariniere vineyards
were not considered safe ground for that young
culprit. She had to be contented with a distant
vieu-, and could see from her window the white
horses crawling up and down the steep hill.

Some patronising notice was bestowed by the
people from the chateau on Martin Joubard, who
moved slowly about among the old neighbours a
hero to them all, whatever their political opinions
might be. For. after all. he went to the wars
against his will; and when tliere he had done his
duty: and his enthusiasm for the Emperor was a
new spirit in that country, which roused curiosity
if nothing more. No one could fail to rejoice with
old Joubard and his wife. Wliatever they them-
selves thought, and hardly dared to sav, was said
for them by their neighbours. Few indeed had
come back, of the conscript lads of Anjou. How
much better, people said, to have Martin maimed
than not at all. What was a wooden leg? a very
useful appendage, on which Martin might limp ac-
tively about the farms; and the loss of an arm
did not matter so much. for. by his father's ac-
count, he could do everything but hold and fire

Elil

304

ANGELOT

llf^:

; L

a gun with the one left to him. His mother had
dressed him in clean country clothes, laying aside
his tattered old uniform in a chest, for he would
not have it destroyed. All the n'.rh in the two
villages were running after Martin, who had al-
ways been popular; all the men wanted to hear
his tales of the war. He was certainly the hero
of Monsieur Urbain's vintage, the centre figure
of that sunny day.

Angelot felt himself drawn to the soldier, whose
return home had touched him with so strange a
thrill. There was a spark of the heroic in this
young fellow. Angelot found himself watching
him, listening to him, perhaps as a kind of refuge
from the cold looks of his relations; for even
Riettp dared not run after him as of old.

When purple shadows began to lie long in the
yellow evening glow, and the crickets sang louder
than ever, and sweet scents came out of the warm
ground — when the day's work was nearly done,
Angelot walked away with Martin from the vine-
yard. He wanted some of those stirring stories
to himself, it seemed. If one must go away and
fight, if the old Angevin life became once for all
impossible, then might it not be better under the
eagles, as his wise father thought, than with that
army and on that side for which, in spite of his
mother and his uncle, he could not rouse in himself
any enthusiasm? True, he liked little he knew
of the Empire and its men, except this poor lamed
conscript; but always in his whirling thoughts

j^4\.Mm'.^'..k

•THE TREADING OF THE GRAPES 305

there was that will-o'-the-wisp, that wavering star
of hope that Helene's father had seemed to offer
him. Could he forsake, for any other reason, the
sight of the forbidden walls that held her!

He and Martin went away up the lane together
and chmbed along the side of the moor towards
La Joubardiere, Martin telling wild stories of
battles and sieges, of long marching and priva-
tion, Angelot listening fascinated, as he helped
the cnppled .oldier over the rough ground.

Martm had been wounded under Suchet at the
siege of Tortosa. so that he had seen little of the
more recent events of the war, but his personal
adventures, before and since, had been exciting-
and not the least wonderful part of the storv was
h,s wandering life, a wounded beggar on hi^ way
back across the Pyrenees into his own country
vs Angelot listened, the politics of French parties
^ided away, and he only realised that this was a
Frenchman, fighting the enemies of France and
givmg h,s young life for her without a word of
regret. Napoleon might have conquered the
Avorld. ,t seemed, with such conscript soldiers as
this. These, not men like Ratoneau or Georges de
bamfoy, were the heroes of the war.

The sun had set. and swift darkness was com-
ing down, before the young men reached La
Joubardiere. The lane, the same in which the
two carriages had met. ran in a hollow between
high banks studded with oaks like gigantic toad-
stools, addmg to the deepness of the shadow

!',, ;

Iff I

3o6

ANGELOT

ii*

.a'X'rv— ;

m • -mi

*.4 r ■ ■» i

" There are people following us," said Angelot.

He inter J ipted Martin in the midst of one of
his stories; the soldier was standing still, lean-
ing on his stick, and laughed with a touch of
annoyance, for he was growing vain of his skill
as a story-teller.

" My father and mother," he said. " And here
I am forgetting their soup, which I promised to

have ready." ,,

" It is not — I know Maitre Joubard's step,

said Angelot.

" Some of the vmtagers — " Martin was be-
ginning, when he and Angel Jt were surrounded
suddenly in the dusk by several men, two of
whom seized Angelot by the shoulders.

" I arrest you, in the Emperor's name," said a

third man.

Angelot struggled to free himself, and Martin
lifted his stick threateningly.

" What is this, rascals ? Do you know what
you are saying? This is the son of Monsieur de
la Mariniere."

" It is some mistake. You have no business to
arrest me. You will answer for this, police ! You
will answer it to Monsieur le Prefet. He is ill,
and cannot have given the order. Show me your

authority."

" Never mind our authority," said the chief.
" We don't want Monsieur de la Mariniere, but
we do want his son. Are you coming quietly,
young gentleman, or must we put on handcuffs?

I,W- -...u '

THE TREADING OF THE GRAPES 307

Get out of the way with your stick, you one-legged
fellow, or I shall have to punish you."

" Keep back, Martin ; you can do nothing. Go
and tell my father," said Angelot. He shook off
the men's hands, and stood still and upright in
the midst of them.

" Why do you arrest me? " he said. " Where
are you going to take me ? "

" Ah, that you will see," said the police officer.

The snarling malice in his voice seemed sud-
denly familiar to Angelot.

" Why, I know you — you are — "

" Never mind who I am. It is my business
to keep down Chouans."

" But I am not a Chouan ! "

" A man is known by his compan_, , Now then
— quick march — away ! "

"Adieu, Martin! This is all nonsense — I
shall soon come back," Angelot cried, as they
hustled him on.

A few moments, and the very tramp of their
feet was lost in the dusk, for they had dragged
their prisoner out of the lane and were crossing
the open moor. Martin, in much tribulation,
made the best of his way back to meet his father
and mother, and with them carried the new^ to
La Mariniere.

Half an hour later. Monsieur Urbain,
whistling gaily, came back from a pleasant
stroll home with his Sainfoy cousins. Every-
thing seemed satisfactory; Adelaide had been

3o8

ANGELOT

kind, the vintage was splendid. If only
Angelot were a sensible boy, there would be
nothing left to wish for.

The moon was up, flooding the old yards that
were now empty and still. As he came near, he
saw Anne waiting for him in the porch, and sup-
posed that the moonlight made her so strangely
pale.

" My dearest." he said, as he came up, " there
is to be a ball this month at Lancilly, in honour
of Georges. But I do not know whether that fool-
ish son of yours will be invited."

Anne looked him in the face; no, it was not
the moonlight that made her so pale.

" They have arrested Ange as a Chouan," she
said.

;', " fit;. i

i-iL''-'-:. i

CHAPTER XX

HOW ANGELOT CLIMBED A TREE

The police had caught Angelot; but they did
not keep liini long.

They had to do with a young man who knew
every yard of that wild country far better than
they did. and was almost as much a part of it us
the birds and beasts that haunted it.

" Where are you taking me ? " he said, as
they walked across the high expanse of the
landcs, dimly lighted by the last glimmer of day.
" This is a very roundabout way to Sonnay-le-
Loir."

" It is not the way at all," said the officer who
took the lead, "and we know that as well as
you."

" But I demand to be taken to Sonnay," Ange-
lot said, and stopped. " The warrant for my
arrest, if you have such a thing, must be from the
Prefect. Take me to him, and I wall soon con-
vince him that there is some mistake."

" Monsieur le Prefet is ill, as you know. Walk
on, if you please."

" Then take me to the sous-Prefet, or whoever
is in his place."

309

'Nil

310

ANGELOT

•■*»:: -i ■

■ i tU

i I 1

" You are going to a higher authority, mon-
sieur, not a lower one."

" What do you mean by that ? "

" You are going to Paris. Monsieur le Comte
Real, the head of our branch of the police, will
decide what is to be done with you."

" Mon Dieu I The old Jacobin ! He nearly had
my uncle in his fangs once," said Angelot, half to
himself. "But what do they accuse me of?
Chouannerie? But I am not a Chouan, and you
know enough of our affairs to know that, Mon-
sieur Simon ! "

The Chouan-catcher laughed sourly.

" I believe this is some private devilry," the
prisoner went on, with careless daring. " The
Prefect has nothing to do with it. It is spite
against my uncle — but you are a little afraid of
touching him. Don't imagine, though, that you
will annoy him particularly by carrying me off.
We are not on good terms just now, my uncle
and I. In truth, I have offended all my relations,
and nobody will be sorry to have me away for a
time."

" Tant mieux, monsieur !" said Simon. " Then
you won't object to giving the Minister of Police
a little information about your uncle and the other
Chouan gentlemen, his friends."

" Ah ! that is quite another story ! That is
the idea, is it ? Monsieur le Due de Rovigo, and
Monsieur le Comte Real, tlatter themselves that
they have got hold of a traitor ? "

HOW ANGELOT CLIMBED A TREE 311

" Pardon, monsieur ! It is the Chouans who are
traitors."

" I think I could find a few others in our poor
France this very night. But I am not one of them.
Again, whose authority have you for arresting
me? Is it Monsieur Real who has stretched his
long arm so far? "

" The authority is sufficient, and you are my
prisoner," Simon -answered coolly.

" I suspect you have no authority but your
own ! "

" They will enlighten you in Paris, possibly."

" Come, tell me, how much are they paying you
for this little trick?"

Oi-e of the other men laughed suddenly, and
Simon became angry,

" Hold your tongue, prisoner, or I shall have
you gagged. You need not speak again till the
authorities in Paris take means to make you.
Yes, I assure you, they can persuade rather
strongly when they like. Now, quick march —
we have a post-chaise waiting in the road over
there."

Angelot saw that his wisest course was to say
no more. He was unarmed ; they had taken away
the knife he had used for cutting grapes; his
faithful fowling-piece was hanging in the hall at
La Mariniere. He was guarded by five men, all
armed, all taller and bigger than himself. He
walked along in silence, apparently resigned to his
fate, but thinking hard all the while.

ii
1

] %
I

312

ANGELOT

^^1

1 .

■.''VJ i

'1 , i

4|A^ ■

Iff

His thoughts, busy and curious as they were,
(lid not hit on the right origin of his very dis-
agreeable adventure. Knowing a good deal of
Simon by repute, and a little by exi)erience, and
having heard legends of such police exploits in
the West within tlie last ten years, though not
since Monsieur de Mauves took office, he felt al-
most sure that the spy was taking advantage of
the Prefect's illness to gain a little money and
credit on his own account. And of course his
own arrest, a young and unimportant man, was
more easily managed and less likely to have con-
sequences than that of his uncle, for instance, or
Monsieur des Barres. He did not believe that tlie
Paris authorities knew anything of it, yet ; but he
did believe that Simon knew .vhat he was doing;
that Real, the well-known head of the police in
the western arrondisscmcnt , trained under Fouche
in suspicion, cunning and mercilessness, would
make unscrupulous use of any means of V. "ng
the present state of Royalist opinion in Anjou.
He would be all the more severe, probably, because
tl e mildness of the Prefect of the Loir had more
than once irritated him. So Angelot thought he
saw that Simon might easily drag his chosen
victim into a dangerous place, from which it
would be hard to escape with honour.

They reached the north-east edge of the moor
just as the moon was rising. At first the low light
made all things strangely confused, marching
armies of shadows over the wild ground. Every

HOW ANGELOT CLIMBED A TREE 313

bush might hide a man. and the ranks of low oaks
stood hke giants guanhng the hollow black paths
that woinid between them. Les Chouettes. the
only habitation near, lay a mile away below the
vineyards. The high-road to Paris might be
reached by one of the narrow roads that crossed
the heath not far away.

When they came to the edge of the open
ground, near a grove of oaks plunged in bracken,
with a few crumbling walls beyond it where a
farm had once stood. Simon halted his party and
whistled. He seemed to expect a reply, but got
none. After waiting a few minutes, whistling
again, exclaiming impatiently, he beckoned one of
the other men and they walked away together
towards the road.

" Something wrong with the chaise ? " said An-
gelot to the three who were left. " W: will you
do if it is not there ? You will have to carry me to
Paris, for I promise you I don't mean to walk."

" Monsieur will not be very heavy," one of the
men answered, good-humouredly ; the same who
had laughed before.

" Lift me then, and see ! " said Angelot. " All
right, my good fellow. I'll ride on your shoulders.
Voyons! you can carry me down the road."

They were standing in a patch of moonlight,
just outside the shadow of the oaks. The two
other men stepped back for an instant, while their
comrade stooped, laughmg, to lift Angelot. He
was met by a lightning-like blow worthy of an

3^4

ANGELOT

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f - i f

I i

f i

■f'l' '

English training, and tumbled over into the
bracken. One of the two others fell Hat in the
opposite direction, and the prisoner vanished into
the shadows of the grove. The third man dashed
after him, but came into violent contact, in the
darkness, with the trunk of a tree, and fell down
stuimed at the foot «)f it.

By this time the chaise had slowly climbed the
hill from a village in tiie further valley, where the
post-boy had been refreshing himself and his
horses. Simon stopped to scold him, then left
his companion to keep guard over him, and him-
self mounted again the precipitous bit of stony
lane which had once been the approach to the
farm, and now opened on the wild moor. He
whistled shrilly as he came, and then called in a
subdued voice: "All rigiit, men! Bring him
down."

There was no answer. He quickened his pace,
and coming up under the oaks found the two fel-
lows sitting on the ground rubbing their heads,
staring vacantly round with eyes before which all
the moonsiiiny world was swimming.

Simon swore at them furiously. " What has
happened, you fools? Where's Alexandre?
Where is the prisoner? name of all that's — "

" Devil knows, 1 don't," said the fellow who
had paid dear for his good-humour. " That little
gentleman is cleverer than you or me, Master
Simon, and stronger too. He knocked us down
like ninepins. Where is he? Nearly back at La

.^Lirfa^i^r:-^.,,^

now ANCELHT CLIMRRD A TREE 315

Mariniere. I should think, and with Alexandre
ciiasiiijj after him ! "

" Not so far off as that. I suspect." said
Simon. " Up with you. 1 le is hidden in
this cover, and you have got to beat it till
you find him. Wow did you come to let him
escape, pair of idiots? You are not fit for your
work."

He went back a few yards, while the men
scrambled to their feet, and whistled sharply for
the one he had left in charge of the post-boy.
Then he lighted a lantern, and they pushed at
various points into the wood. The 'first discov-
ery was that of Alexandre, lying senseless ; they
tlragged him int(j ilie road and left him there to
come to himself. Then they unearthed a wiid
Imr, which rushed out furiously from the depths
of the bracken and charged at the light, then
bolted ofiF across the moor. Smaller animals fled
from them in all directions; large binls rustled
and cried, disturbed in the thick foliage of the
oaks, impenetrable masses of shade.

" If we w^re 10 shoot into the trees? He may
be hidden in one of them."

The suggestion came from Angelot's friend,
whose frivolity had given him his chance, and
whose anxiety to put himself on the right side by
catching him again, dead or alive, very nearly
brought his young life to a speedy end. For fool-
ish Francois was wise this time, so wise, had he
only known it, that Angelot was .Mtting in the very

M » ■

^HB
^^^K

3i6

ANGELOT

> -A'i

tree he touched with his hand as he spoke, a
couple of yards above his head.

The b^y had courage enough and to spare; but
his heart seemed to stop at that moment, and he
felt himself turning white in the darkness. The
men could hardly shoot into the trees without hit-
ting him, though he had slipped down as far as he
could into the hollow trunk. He would be hor-
ribly wo inded, if not killed. It was a hard fate,
to be shot as a poacher might shoot a pheasant
roosting on a bough. An unsportsmanlike sort
of death, Uncle Joseph would say. He held
his breath. Should he await it. or give himself
back to the police by jumping down amongst

them ?

The moment of danger passed. Angelot smiled
as the men moved on, and hid himself a little more

completely.

" No," Simon said. " No shooting till you are
obliged. His uncle lives only a mile off, and he
will come out if he hears a gun."

"So he would, the blessed little man ! " mut-
tered Angelot.

The men went on searching the wood, but with
such stealthy movements, so little noise, even so
little perseverance, as it seemed to him, that lie
was confirmed in his idea of Simon's sole responsi-
bility. These men were police, supposed to be all-
powerful ; but somehow they did not act or talk
as if Savary and the Emperor, or even Real, were
behind them.

g»|:

HOW ANGELOT CLIMBED A TREE 317

Angelot watched the light as it glimmered here
and there, and listened to tiie rustling in the
bracken. Presently, when they were far off on
the other side of the little grove, he climbed out
of the trunk and slipped down from his tree
Simon might change his mind about shooting-
m any case it seemed safer to change one's po-'
sition. Bemg close to the edge of the landes
Angeots first thought was to take to his heels
and run; then again that seemed risky, and a
shot m the back was undesirable. He dived in
among the bracken, which was taller than him-
self, and grew thick on the ground like a small
forest. Half crawling, half walking, stopping
dead still to watch the wandering gleams of light
and to hear the steps and voices of the men, then
pushmg gently on again, Angelot reached a hid-
mg-place on the other side of the grove Here
the bracken, taller and thicker than ever, grew
agamst and partly over the ruined walls of the
old farm. In the very middle of it, where the wall
made a sudden turn, there was a hollow, half shel-
tered by stones, and a black yawning hole below
the old well of the homestead. All the top of it
was m ruins; a fox had made its hole halfway
down; there was still water at the bottom of the
well. Here, plunged in the darkness, Angelot
sat on the edge of the well and waited. There
were odd little sounds about him, the squeaking
of young animals, the sleep;- chirp of easily dis-
turbed birds; a frog dived with a splash into the

mV:

318

ANGELOT

well, and then in a few unearthly croaks told his
story to his mates down there. The bracken
smelt warm and dry; it was not a bad place to
spend a summer night in, for any one who knew
wild nature and loved it.

All was so still that Angelot, after listening
intently for a time, leaned his head against the
white stones, fell asleep, and dreamed of Helene.
If he had carried her off that night, mad fellow
as hz was, some such shelter might have been all
he had to offer her.

He woke with a start, and saw by the light
that he must have been asleep at least two hours,
for the moon was high in the sky. He got up
cautiously, and crept through the bracken to the
edge of the grove towards Les Chouettes.

It was fortunate that he took the precaution to
move noiselessly, as if he were stalking game, for
he had hirdly reached the edge of the wood when
he saw Simon standing in the moonlight. Evi-
dently he had been sitting or lying on the bank
and had just risen to his feet, for one of his com-
rades lay there still.

" He is hidden here. He must be here," said
Simon, in a low, decided voice. " I will not go
away without him. Hungry and thirsty — yes,
I dare say you are. You deserve it, for letting
him escape."

" I tell you, he is not here," said the other man.
" We have been all round this bit of country ; all
through it. And look at the moonlight. A mouse

HOW ANGELOT CLIMBED A TREE 319

couldn't get away without our seeing it What's
that? a rabbit?"

^'I shall walk round again," said Simon.

Ihose other fellows may be asleep, if they are
as drowsy and discontented as yoiv Look sharp
now, while I am away."

Simon tramped down the lane. The other
pohce officer stretched himself and stared after
him.

" I'll eat my cap," he muttered, " if the young
gentleman's in the wood still. He deserves to be
caught, if he is."

At that moment Angelot was standing under
an oak two yards away. In the broad, deep
shadow he was invisible. A longing seized him
to knock the man's cap off his head and tell him
to keep his word and eat it. But Simon was too
near, and it was madness to risk tne chase that
must follow. Angelot laughed to himseif as he
slipped from that shadow to the next, the officer
yawning desperately the while.

There was something unearthly about Les
Chouettes in the moonlight. It seemed to float
like a fairy dwelling, with its slim tower and high
vvindows, on a snowy ocean of sand. The woods
dark guarding phalanxes of tall oaks and firs'
seemed marshalled on the slopes for its defence'
Angelot came do n upon it by the old steep lane
Having slipped across from the ruined farm to a
vineyard, alonp; by a tall hedge into another wood
of low scrub and bracken, then into the road a hun-

320

ANGELOT

dred yards above the house. Before he reached
it he heard the horses kicking in the stable, then
a low bark from the nearest dog which he an-
sv. sred by softly whistling a familiar tune.

In consequence of this all the dogs about the
place came running to meet him, softly patting
over the sand, and it was on this group, standing
under her window in the midnight stillness, that
Riette looked out a few minutes later.

Something woke her, she did not know what,
but this little watcher's sleep was always of the
lightest, and she had not long fallen asleep, her
eyelashes still wet with tears for Angelot. The
window creaked as she opened it, leaning out into
the moonlight.

" Is it you, my Ange ? But they said — "
" I have escaped," said Angelot. " Quick, let
me in ! They may be following me."

"But go round to papa's window, dearest!
And what business have the dogs there? Ah —
do you hear, you wicked things? Go back to
your places."

The dogs looked up, dropped their ears and
tails, slunk away each to his corner. Only the
dog who guarded Riette's end of the house re-
mained ; he stretched himself on the sand, slapped
' it with his tail, lolled out his tongue as if

laughing.

" Don't you think my uncle will shoot me be-
fore he looks at me, if I attack his window ? "
said Angelot. " And in any case, I dare hardly

HOW ANGELO'^ CLIMBED A TREE 321

ask him to take me in. He has not forgiven me.
But you could hide me, Riette! or at least you
could give me sometliing to eat before I take to
the woods again."

" My boy ! " the odd little figure in the flannel
gown leaned farther out, and the dark cropped
head was turned one way and the other, listening.
" Go round into the north wood and wait as near
papa's window as you can. I will go down to
him. I think he cannot be asleep; he must be
thinking of you."

" Merci ! " said Angelot, and walked away.

But he did not go into the wood. He stole
round very gently to where, in spite of the moon,
he saw a light shining in Monsieur Joseph's uncur-
tained window. The guardian dog rubbed him-
self against his legs as he stood there.

Monsieur Joseph's room was panelled and fur-
nished with the plainest wood. His bed was in
the alcove at the back; the only ornament was
the portrait of his wife, a dark, Italian-looking
woman, which hung surrounded by guns, pistols,
and swords, over the low stone mantelpiece. It
was just midnight, but Monsieur Joseph was
not in bed. He looked a quaint figure, in a dress-
ing-gown and a tasselled night-cap, and he sat at
the table writing a long letter. He started when
Riette touched the door, and Angelot saw that
his hand moved mechanically towards a pair of
pistols that lay beside him. Monsieur Joseph did
not trust entirely to his dogs for defence.

1 iKii 1

322

ANGELOT

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imku

In she came, with bare white feet stepping
lightly over the polished floor, Angelot moved
back a pace or two that he might not hear what
they said to each other. When Monsieur Joseph
hastily opened the window, Riette had been sent
back summarily to her room, and Angelot was
waiting halfway to the wood.

" Come in, Ange! why do you stand there?"
the little uncle exclaimed under his breath.
" Sapristi, how do you know that you are not
watched ? "

" I think not, Uncle Joseph. And I fancy the
fellows who caught me will hardly follow me
here," said Angelot, stepping into the room.
" You will forgive me for coming? "

" Where could you go ? Come, come, tell me
everything. Why — what did those devils of
police want with you? Shut the window and
draw the curtain — there, now we are safe. I was
just writing to Cesar d' Ombre. Do you know —
here is a secret — he means to get away to
England, and from there to the Princes. He is
right ; there is not much to be done here. You
shall go with him ! "

"Shall I?" said Angelot, vaguely. "Well,
Uncle Joseph — it does not much matter where
I go."

Joseph de la Mariniere swore his biggest oath.

"What are you staying here for?" he said.
" To be caught on one side by a young lady, on
the other by the police 1 "

HOW ANGELOT CLIMBED A TREE 323

" Give me something to eat, Uncle Joseph, or
I shall die of hunger between you all," said Ange-
lot, smiling a* him.

The little gentleman shook his head. Angelot
was not forgiven, not at all; even Riette had
hardly been restored to favour, to ordinary meals
in polite society.

" I will give you something to eat if I can find
anything without calling Gigot," he said. " Riette
thinks there is a pie in the pantry. Come into the
g-un-room; the light will not be seen there. And
tell me what you have done to get yourself
arrested, troublesome fellow! Not even a real
honest bit of Chouannerie, I am afraid."

Ill

•i-ti

CHAPTER XXI

HOW MONSIEUR JOSEPH FOUND HIMSELF
MASTER OF THE SITUATION

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P

f'.

In the old labyrinth of rooms at Les Chouettes,
Monsieur Joseph's gun-room was the best hidden
from the outside. It had solid shutters, always
kept closed and barred; the daylight only made
its way in through their chinks, or through the
doors, one of which opened into Monsieur
Joseph's bedroom, the other into a little ante-
room between that and the hall. Both doors
were generally locked, and the keys safely stowed
away.

The gun-room was not meant for ordinary
visitors ; Angelot himself, as a rule, was the only
person admitted there. For the amount of arms
and ammunition kept there, some of it in
cupboards cleverly hidden in the panelling, some
in a dry cellar entered by a trap-door in the floor,
was very different, both in kind and quality, from
anything the most energetic sportsman could re-
quire.

In this storehouse the amiable conspirator shut
up his nephew, and Angelot spent the next few
days there, well employed in cleaning and polish-

324

MASTER OF THE SITUATION 325

ing wood and steel. He slept at night on a sofa
in the anteroom, but was allowed to go no far-
ther. Monsieur Joseph had reasons of his own.

He was a very authoritative person, when once
he took a matter into his own hands, and his in-
fluence with Angelot was great. He took a far
more serious view of the arrest than Angelot him-
self did. He was sure that his nephew had been
kidnapped by special orders from Paris — prob-
ably from Real, whom he knew of old — in order
to gain information as to any existing Chouan
plots in Anjou. Thus the authorities meant to
protect themselves from any consequences of the
Prefect's indulgent character. It was even possi-
ble that some suspicion of the mission to England,
only lately discussed by himself and his friends,
might have filtered through to Paris ; and in that
case several persons were in serious danger.

Monsieur Joseph was confirmed in these ideas
by the fact that his brother started off to Sonnay
to demand of the — ^Horities there the reas.^n of
his son's arrest, :-nd found that absolutely noth-
ing was known of it. Coming back in a state of
rage and anxiety, which quite drove his philoso-
phy out of the field, Urbain attacked his brother in
words that Joseph found a little hard to bear,
accusing him of having ruined Angelot's life with
his foolish fancies, and of being the actual cause
of this catastrophe which might bring the fate
of a Chouan on the innocent fellow who cared
for no politics at all.

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3^6

ANGELOT

" And what a life, to care for no cause at all ! "
cried Joseph, with eloquently waving hands.
" But — you say you are going to Paris, to get
to the bottom of this? Well, my friend, go! And
I promise you, if Au^t is iu danger, I will follow
and take his place. You and Anne may rely upon
it, he shall not be punished for my sins."

" Come with me now, then ! I start this very
night," Said Urbain.

" No, no! 1 will not accuse myself before it is
necessary," said Joseph, shaking his head and
smil'ng.

Urbain flung away in angry disgust. Joseph
had a moment of profound sadness as he looked
after him — they were standing in the court-yard
of La Mariniere — then stole away home through
the lanes, carefully avoiding a sight of his sister-
in-law.

'' I let him go ! I let im go, poor Urbain ! and
his boy safe at Les C ^ettes all the time. Why
do I do it? because t <, house is watched day and
night; because neither I, nor Gigot, nor Tobie,
can go into the woods without seeing the glitter
of a police carbine through the leave;; because
the dogs growl at night, and there is no safe
place for Angelot outside Les Chouettes, till he
is out of France altogether — and that I shall
have to manage carefully. Because, if his father
knew he had escaped from the police, all the world
would Know. Et puis, — I shall make a good
Royalist of you in the end, my little Angelot.

MASTER OF THE SITUATION 327

Your mother will not blame me for cutting you
off from the Empire, and jour father must com-
fort himself with his philosophy. And that hope-
less passion for Mademoiselle Helene — what
can be kinder than to end it — and by the great
cure of all — time, absence, impossibility ! Yes ;
the matter is in my hands, and I shall carry it
through, God helping me."

It was not a light burden that he had to carry,
the little uncle. Never, since his brother's inter-
vention brought him back to France and placed
him where he and his old friends could amuse
themselves with conspiracies which, as Joubard
said, did little harm to any one, had he been in a
position of such real difificulty. Riette did not at
all realise what she was bringing upon her father,
when she slipped into his room that night with the
news that Angelot had escaped from the police.
He had to keep his nephew quietly imprisoned
till he could get him away safely; it required
all his arguments, all his influence and strength
of will, to do that ; for Angelot was not an easy
person to keep within four narrow walls, and
only love and gratitude restrained him from
obeying his own instincts, going out into the
woods, risking a second arrest — hardly to be
followed by a second escape — venturing over to
La Mariniere to see his mother. It distressed him
far more to think of her, terribly anxious, igno-
rant of his safety, than of his father on the way
to Paris. He, at any rate, though he would not

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328

ANGELOT

fiU

find him, might c()me to the l)ottom of the mys-
terious business.

Monsieur Joseph ilanced in the air, shrugged
his shoulders, waved his hands. If Angelot chose
to go, let him! His recapture would probably
mean the arrest and ruin of the whole family. A
little patience, and he could disappear for the
." vVhat else did he exi)ect to be able to do?

, • I'd a man on whom the police had once laid
i' r .ands be allowd to rescue himself and to live
y .'.ceably in his own country? What did he take
tliom for, the police? were they children at play?
or were their proceedings grim and real earnest ?
Had those men behind, who pulled the strings
of the puppet-show, no other object in view than
an hour's amusement? Did Angelot know that
the woods were patrolled by the police, the roads
watched? Tiie only surprising thing was, that
no domiciliary visit had yet been made, either at
Les Chouettes or La Mariniere.

" However, they know I am a good marks-
man." said Monsieur Joseph, with his sweetest
smile. " And even Tobie, with my authority,
might think a gendarme fair game."

" I don't believe it is fear of you that keeps
them away, Uncle Joseph," said Angelot. " As to
that. I too can hit a tree by daylight. Biu these
stealthy ways of theirs seem to tell me what I have
thought all along, that it is a private enterprise of
our friend Simon's own, without any authority
whatever. The fcllnvs with him were not gen-

MASTER OF THE SITUATION 3J9

darmes; they were not in uniform. Monsieur Ic
Prefet being laid up, the good man tiiinks it the
moment to do a little hunting on his f>\vn account
with his own dogs, and to ctirry favour by taking
his game to Paris. But he is not quite sure of
himself; he has no warrant to search houses with-
out a better reason than any he can give. He will
catch me again if he can. no doubt; but as you
say, Uncle Joseph, as long as I stay here in your
cupboard, I am safe,"

" So safe," laughed his uncle, *' that I am going
to begin my vintage to-morrow under their very
noses, leaving Riette and the dogs to guard you,
n\on petit. But you are wrong, you are quite
wrong. No police spy would dare to make such
an arrest without a special order. If they have
no warrant for searching, they will soon get one
as soon as they are sure you are here. But at
present you have vanished into the bowels of the
earth. They can see that your father knows
nothing of you; they have no reason to think
that I am any wiser."

So passed those weary days, those long, mys-
terious nights at Les Chouettes.

Outside, with great care to keep themselves out
of sight, Simon's scratch band searched the woods
and lanes. Simon was mystified, as well as furi-
ous. He hardly dared return and report to his
employer, who supposed that Angelot had been
conveyed safely off to the mock prison where he
meant to have hiin kept for a few weeks; then,

330

angelSt

when the affair of the marriage was arranged,
to let him escape from it. Simon was himself too
well known in the neighbourhood to make any
enquiries ; but one of his men found out at Lan-
cilly that the family supposed young Ange to have
been carried off to Paris, whither his father had
followed hiin. Martin Joubard, the only witness
of the arrest, had made the most of his story. He
did not know the police officer by sight, but Mon-
sieur Ange had seemed to do so. This had made
them all think that the order for the arrest had
come from Sonnay. But no! And as to any es-
cape, this man was assured that the young gen-
tleman had not been seen by any one but Martin
Joubard, since he left his father's vineyard in the
twilight of that fatal evening.

At Les Chouettes all went on outwardly in its
usual fashion. Monsieur Joseph strolled out with
his gun, directed the beginnings of his vintage;
his servants, trustworthy indeed, showed no sign
of any special watchfulness ; Mademoiselle Hen-
riette ordered the dogs about and sang her songs
as usual. If Monsieur Joseph was grave and pre-
occupied, no wonder; every one knew he loved
his nephew. But Simon, in trutii, had met his
match. He was almost convinced that no fugi-
tive from justice, real or pretended, was hidden in
or about Monsieur Joseph's habitation; and he
gradually made his cordon wider, still watcliino:
the house, but keeping his men in cover by day.
and searching the woods by night with less

,«>

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MASTER OF THE SITUATION 331

exact caution. His only satisfaction was being
aware of two visits paitl to Les Chouettes by the
Baron d'Ombre, who came over the moor in the
evening and slept there. The mission to England
was as yet beyond police dreams, at least on this
side of the country; but Simon kept his know-
ledge for future use.

It might naturally be imagined that Angelot
would have found a refuge in some of the wild
old precincts of La Mariniere; but Simon soon
convinced himself that this was not the case. No
mother whose son was hidden about her home
would have spent her time as Anne did, wander-
ing restlessly about, expecting nothing but her
husband's return, or spending long hours before
the altar in the church, praying for her son's
safety. Simon began to suspect that his prisoner
had got away to the west, into Brittany, among
the Chouans who were there so numerous that it
was better to leave them alone.

" Bien ! his absence in any way will suit Mon-
sieur le General," Simon reflected. " As to that,
it does not much matter. But I and my fellows
will not get our promised pay, and that signifies
a great deal. I, who have given up my furlough
to serve that animal ! "

So he gnawed his nails in distraction, and still
watched with a sort of fascination the little square
of country where he felt more and more afraid
that Master Angelot was no longer to be found.

The sympathy that Anne de la Mariniere, in

III

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332

ANGELOT

her lonely sorrow, might have expected from the
cousins at Lancilly who owed Urbain so much,
she neither asked nor found. Once or twice,
Herve de Sainfoy came himself to the ma^or to
ask if she had any news; but his manner was a
little stiff and awkward; and Adelaide never
came ; and the messages he brought from her were
too evidently made by his politeness on the spur
of the moment. Was it not possible, Anne
thought, to be too worldly, too unforgiving?
Had not her beautiful boy been punished enough
for his presumption in falling in love with their
daughter, and behaving like a lover of the olden
time ? They were even partly responsible for the
arrest, she thought, for it was to escape them that
Ange had walked away with Martin up the hill
that evening.

Looking over at the great castle on the oppo-
site hill, she accused it bitterly of having robbed
her not only of Urbain, but of Angelot.

The October days brought wilder autumn
weather ; the winds began to blow in the woods,
to howl at night in the wide old chimneys of La
Mariniere; sometimes the cry of a wolf, in dis-
tant depths of forest, made sportsmen and farm-
ers talk of tl e hunts of which Lancilly used long
ago to be the centre. Those days would re-
turn again, they hoped, though Count Herve had
not the energy or the country training f his an-
cestors. But his son, when the war was over,
seemed likely to vie with any seigneur of them all.

MASTER OF THE SITUATION 333

In the meanwhile, this young man's leave was
shortened by an express from the army — a fact
which seemed at first unlikely to have any influ-
ence on the fate of his cousin Angelot — but life
has turns and twists that baffle the wisest calcula-
tions. Neither Georges nor his mother had been
displeased at the arrest of Angelot ; though they
had the decency to keep their congratulations for
each other. As for Hclene, the news had been
allowed to reach her through the servants and
Mademoiselle Moineau. She dared not cry any
more; her mother had scolded her enough for
spoiling her eyes and complexion. Pale and
silent, she took this new trouble as one more
proof that she was never meant to be happy. Her
fairy prince was a dream ; yet, whatever the poets
may say, she found a little joy and comfort,
warmth and peace, in dreaming her dream again,
and even in this worst time, by some strange in-
stinct of love, Angelot seemed never far away
from her.

One evening, when it was blowing and raining
outside, a wood fire was flaming in the salon at
La Mariniere. For herself, Anne would not have
cared for it; but the old Cure sat and warmed
his hands after dining with her and playing a
game of tric-trac. Not indeed to please and dis-
tract her, but himself; for he had long been
accustomed to depend on her for comfort in all
his troubles. After the game was over he had
told her a piece of news; nothing that mattered

334

ANGELOT

very much, or that was very surprising, charac-
ters and circumstances considered ; but Anne took

it hardly.

" I cannot believe it," she said at first. " Who
told you, do you say?"

" My brother at Lancilly told me," said the
Cure. " You do not think him worthy of much
confidence, madame — and it may not be true —
he had heard the report in the village."

She shrugged her shoulders, with a little con-
tempi for the Cure of Lancilly. Her old friend
watched her face, pathetically changed since all
this new sorrow came upon her ; thinner, paler,
its delicate beauty hardened, purple shadows un-
der the still lovely eyes, and a look of bitter re-
sentment that hurt him to see. He gazed at her
imploringly.

" But, madame," he murmured — " it is noth-
ing — Monsieur de la Mariniere would say it was
nothing — "

" I hope, Monsieur le Cure," Anne said, " that
after such cruel hardness of heart he will waste
his affection there no longer. Ah ! who is that ? "

There w^ere quick steps outside. Somebody
had come in, and might be heard shaking himself
in the hall ; then Monsieur Joseph walked lightly
into the room, bringing a rush of outside air, a
smell of wet leaves, and that atmosphere of life
which in his saddest moments never left him.

Madame Urbain received him a little coldly;
she was cold to every one in these days; but in

la *

MASTER OF THE SITUATION 335

truth his conscience told him that he might have
visited her more since Urbain went away. But
then — how keep the secret from Angelot's
mother? No, impossible; and so he made his
vintage an excuse for avoiding La Mariniere.
To-night, however, he had a mission to fulfil.

It was horribly difficult. He sat down between
her and the Cure, looked from one to the other,
drank the coffee she offered him, and blushed like
a girl as he said, " No news from Urbain, I
suppose?"

Anne's brows rose in a scornful arch ; her lips
pouted.

"News! How should there be any?" she
said, as if Urbain had gone to Paris to amuse him-
self. "And your vintage, Joseph?"

" I finished it to-day. It was difficult —
the weather w-as not very good — and — I have
had distractions," said ]\Ionsieur Joseph, and
v.aved away the subject. " My dear Anne," he
went on, rusliing headlong into another, " I have
had a visitor to-day, who charged me to explain
to you a certain matter — which ve s him pro-
foundly, by the bye, — Herve de Sail )y, who for
family reasons — "

" Oh, mon Dieu ! " Anne cried, and burst out
laughing. " You really mean that Herve de Sain-
foy has sent you as his ambassador — see our
injustice, Monsieur le Cure, yours and mine — to
announce to me that he is going to give a ball
while my son is in prison, in danger of his life, or

336

ANGELOT

tti^

i •'

1 \

already dead, for all I know ! Really, that is mag-
nificent! What politeness, what feeling for Ur-
bain, n'est-ce pas ? He did not wish me to hear
such interesting news through the gossip of the
village — do you hear, Monsieur le Cure ? You
brought it too soon. And my invitation ? " she
held out her hand. " Did he give you a card for
me, or will Madame la Comtesse take the trouble
to send it herself? "

" Ah, bah ! " cried Joseph, springing from his
chair and pirouetting before the fire ; " but you
are a little too severe on poor Herve, my dear
sister! I assure you, I showed him what I
thought. But I perceived th- ' his vexaticn is real
— real "and sincere. The circumstances — he ex-
plained them all in the most amiable manner — "

Anne interrupted him, laughing again. " I see
the facts — the one fact — what are the circum-
stances to me?"

" They are a great deal to Herve," Monsieur
Joseph persisted.

" Herve, Herve ! " she cried. " But Joseph —
mon Dieu, how can you take his wretched ex-
cuses ! I thought you loved Ange ! I thought the

boy — "

She broke off with a sob, turning white as
death. The two men stared at her. Monsieur
Joseph with wild eyes and trembling lips. Woulc*
this be more than he could bear?

He took refuge in talking. He talked so fast
that he hardly knew what he was saying. He

MASTER OF THE SITUATION 337

poured out Herve's explanations, his regrets, his
trouble of mind. Georges was bent upon this
ball; it had been proposed long before his re-
turn; the first invitations had been sent out di-
rectly he came. He wished to make acquaintance
with all the neighbours, old and new, otiicial, or
friends of the family ; he wished to pay a special
compliment to the officers at Sonnay, his brothers
in arms. A formal invitation had been sent to
General Ratoneau, who had actually accepted it,
to Herve's great surprise. He hud laughed and
said that the dog wanted another thrashing. But
let him come, if he chose to humble himself! He
might see even more clearly that Helcne was not
for him. In Adelaide's opinion, no private preju-
dices must have anything to do with this ball. It
was given chiefly as a matter of politics, under
imperial colours; it was for the interest of
Georges that his family should thus definitely
range itself with the Empire.

" Poor Herve said that he had already, more
than once, spoilt his wife's calculations and failed
to support her views. She and Georges, whatever
private feeling might be, thought it impossible to
put ofif this ball because of the misfortune that
happened to Angelot. They would be understood
to show sympathy with the Chouans. Then he
abused me well, poor Herve," said Monsieur
Joseph, amiably. " He said, as Urbain did, that
I had ruined Angelot's life, and it was no
one's fault but mine. 'Well, dear cousin,' I

338

ANGELOT

■- n

iMif

said to him, * I will punish myself by not ap-
pearing at this fine ball of yours. Not that
my dancing days are over, but for me, Ange's
absence would spoil all.' ' You love that fellow ! '
says Herve, looking at me. * Love him ! ' says I.
' I would cut off my right hand to serve him, and
that is a good deal for a sportsman.' Herve
laughed as I said it. I do not dislike that poor
Herve, though his wife rules him. Listen to me,
you two. I believe if Ange had been reasonable
and honest, Herve might have given him his
daughter," *

" Heaven forbid ! " cried Anne. " But if you
love Ange, do not blame him. He was young, he
was mad, the girl was beautiful — and, after all,
Joseph, you had something to do with putting that
into his head. Ah, we are all to blame ! We have
all been cruel, blind, selfish. You and I thought
of the King, Urbain thought of his cousins, they
thought of themselves. We left my boy to find
his own way in a time like this, and your Chouan
friends were as dangerous for him as Helene de
Sainfoy. Ah! and you excuse yourself with a
laugh from dancing on his grave! "

She wrung her hando, threw herself back in
her chair with a passionate sigh.

" Madame," said the Cure, suddenly ; — his
dim but watchful eyes ha- )een fixed on Jo^jeph;
" Madame, Monsieur Joseph could tell you,
if he would, what has become of Angelot. He
is not dead; I doubt it he is even in prison.

MASTER OF THE SITUATION 339

Ah, monsieur, you do not dissimulate well ! " as
Joseph made him an eager sign to be silent.

But it was too laie, for Anne was holding his
two hands, and in the light of her eyes all his
secret doings lay open.

" Why did I come! " he said to himself, in the
intervals of a very difficult explanation. " There
is some magic in those walls of Lancilly, which
attracts and ruins us all. If w-e live through this,
thousand thunders, Herve de Sainfoy may make
his own excuses to our dear little Anne in
future ! "

CHAPTER XXII

■ i 1

li-i

THE LIGHTED WINDOWS OF LANCILLY

There was no way out of it, without telling all.
Fortunately Joseph knew that his secrets were
safe with these two, whose hearts were absolutely
Royalist, though circumstances held them bound
to inactivity. Presently Anne rose and left the
room.

" Thank God ! that is over," Joseph said, half
to himself. " I must be going. Monsieur le Cure,
I leave her to you. Do not let her be too anxious.
D'Ombre is rough, but a good fellow; he will
take care of our Angelot."

The old Cure was plunged in gloom. Tall and
slight in his long black garment, he stood under
the high chimneypiece, and leaned forward shiv-
ering, to warm his fingers at the blaze.

" Ah, monsieur ! " he murmured. " Have you
thought what you are doing? Can you expect
good to come out of evil ? Your brother, who has
done everything for us all, how are you treating
him? H madame does not see it. T do. You are
taking Ange, making him a conspirator and a
Chouan. If you save him from one danger, you
plunge him into a greater, for if he and Monsieur

THE LIGHTED WINDOWS 341

d'Ombre are caught on this mission, they will cer-
tainly pay for it with their Hves. You are doing
all this without his father's knowledge — '*

" Ah, my dear Cure, I know the ixjlice better
than you do," Monsieur Joseph said hastily.
" These young fellows will not be the first who
have escaped to England ; and Ange cannot stay
here with their eyes and claws upon him. Even
his father would not wish that. Leave it to me.
What is it, Anne? what are you thinking of? "

His sister-in-law had come back into the room,
wrapped in a cloak, with a hood drawn over her
face.

" I am going with you to see Ange," she said.

The wind was howling, the rain was pattering
outside. But Monsieur Joseph had all the trouble
in the world to make her give up this idea. At
last, after many arguments and prayers, he per-
suaded her that she must not come to Les Chou-
ettes but must absolutely trust Ange to him. He
promised solemnly that the young man should not
start without her knowing it, that, if possible, she
should see her boy again.

" And if Urbain comes back before they are
gone?" she said, looking whitely into his face.
" I tell you positively, Joseph, I shall not dare — "

" My dear friend, owing to Monsieur le Ci're's
unfortunate second-sight, \ 'ur son's life is in
your hands. If Urbain comes back, tell him all,
if you will. His presence did not save Ange from
being arrested before, it will not save him from

343

ANGELOT

J i.^

-"f- ¥m

being retaken. My fault, perhaps, as Urbain said
— all my fault — " He struck his breast as if
in church, with his tnie smile. '* liut then it is
my place to save him, and I will do it, if you will
let me — in my own way."

They were both trembling, and large tears ran
down the old Cure's thin cheeks. Joseph, still
smiling, bent to kiss her hand. I le held it for a
moment, then looked up with dark imploring
eyes.

" Adieu, chere Anne! and think of me with all
your charity ! " he said.

A minute later he had slipped noiselessly out,
and plunged alone into the wet, howling darkness.

Through those days of suspense, while Angelot
was hidden at Les Chouettes, while master and
servants alike acted on the supposition that the
house was watched by gendarmes with all the
power of the Ministry of Police behind them —
through these days, one person alone was happy ;
it was Henriette. She adored her cousin ; it was
joy to watch over him, to scold him, to amuse
him, to keep him, a difficult matter, within the
bounds prescribed by his uncle. Every day An-
gelot said it was impossible; he must be ill, he
must die, if he could not stretch his legs and
breathe the open air. Every day Henriette, when
her father was out, allowed him to mce up and
down the stairs, played at hide-and-seek with him
in the passages, let him dance her round and round
the lower rooms. Or else she played games with

'.L>3f^ >

THE LIGHTED VVTxN'DUWS 343

him, cards, chess, tric-trac; or he lay and li>lened
to her while she told liini fairy tales ; listened with
a drcuni) half-uiulti>tandiii};,u il'.i a certainty, un-
derlying idl his impatience, that there was nothing
to live for now. What did it niaiter. after all?
One moment, life and hoi>e and youth made liinj
thrill and tremble in every linih: the next, his fate
weight «i upon him like a millstone; he laid liis
head d )\vti on the hroad pillow of the sofa, and
while Henrictte chattereil his eyelashes were sonie-
tiuK's wet. All was settled now. lie niu.-.t be
bani>lu'<l to England, to (iermany. banished in a
canst he lid not cut: for. in which he was involved
against hi? uill. Ntver again should he walk
with Ills inin am) Nego, light-hearted, over his
own old coiuitry. Never again, more certainly,
should he see ilclene. feel the maddening sv^^eet-
ness of her touch, her kiss. There wa- t be a
ball. Ilenriette told him all about ii h"!v -'■'of
his cousin Herve's visit, and wa? ut' :. .in-.d,
half miserable, Helene would d.,.; ; .. 'in; uin
slender, her eyes full of sadne '^'■''■' "oy.d

dance with other men, thinking, he 'i"^ - > -
lost friend, her Angelot. In time, oi". f n
would be presented to her as her husban;i. Not
Ratoneau; Angelot had her father's word for
that, and he drew a long breath when he thought
of it. But some one else; that was inevitable.
Ah! as life must pass, why cannot it pass more
quickly? Why must every day have such an
endless number of hours and minutes ? What tor-

344

ANGELOT

flip

i'^rfift;

ture is tbtre greater than this of waiting, stifled
and idle, for a fate arranged in spite of one's
self?

Henriette flitted in and out, eager and earnest
like her father. After Monsieur Joseph's visit to
La Mariniere, he sent her there one day with
Marie, and she was embraced by her aunt Anne
with a quite new passion of tenderness, and tfusted
with a letter and a huge parcel of necessaries for
Angelot's journey. Monsieur Joseph laughed a
little angrily over these.

" Tiens, mon petit ! your mother thinks you
are going to drive to the coast in a chaise and
four," he said; but Angelot bent his head very
gravely over the coats and the shirts that those
little thin hands had folded together for him.

" You must give me fair notice, Uncle Joseph,"
he said. " Police or no police, I do not go w ith-
ou* -vishing her good-bye."

Everything came at once, as fate would have
it. It was after dark, a wild, windy evening, stars
looking through the harrying clouds, no moon-
rise till early morning. With every precaution.
Monsieur Joseph now allowed his nephew to dine
in the dining-room, taking care to place him
where he could not be seen from outside when
Gigot came in through the shutters from the
kitchen. Angelot had nov/ been kept in hiding
for ten days, and the police seemed to have dis-
appeared from the woods, so that Monsieur Jo-
seph's mind was easier.

mmmm!^7^mw:m!f7^.

THE LIGHTED WINDOWS 345

Suddenly, as they sat at dinner that evening, all
the dogs began to bark.

" Go into your den ! " said the little uncle, start-
ing up.

" No, dear uncle, this game pie is too good,"
Angelot said coolly. " I heard a horse coming
down the lane. It is Monsieur d'Ombre's messen-
ger.

" If it is — very true, you had better eat your
dinner," said his uncle.

And to be sure, in a few minutes, Gigot came
in with a letter, Angelot's marching orders. At
five o'clock the next morning Cesar d'Ombre
would wait for him at the fetang des Morts, a
lonely, legend-haunted pool in the woods where
four roads met, about two leagues beyond the
landes by way of La Joubardiere.

" Very well ; you will start at three o'clock,"
said Monsieur Joseph. " Give the man some-
thing to eat and send him back, Gigot, to meet
his master."

" Three o'clock ! I shall be asleep ! " said An-
gelot. " Surely an hour will be enough to take
me to the fitang des Morts — a cheerful rendez-
vous ! "

He laughed and looked at Riette. She was
very pale and grave, her dark eyes wide open.

" The good dead — they will watch over you,
mon petit ! " she murmured. " We must not be
afraid of them."

" This is not a time for talking nonsense, chil-

i f 2'

. ■■
■

346

ANGELOT

dren," said Monsieur Joseph ; he looked at them
severely, his mouth trembling. " Half-past three
at latest ; the boy might lose his way in the dark."

Riette got up suddenly and flung her arms
round Angelot's neck.

" Mon petit, mon petit ! " she repeated, burying
her face on his shoulder.

" What are you do' g? " he cried. " How am
I to finish my dinner? You come between me
and the best pie that Marie ever made ! Get along
with you, little good-for-nothing ! "

He laughed ; then Marie's pie seemed to choke
him; he pushed back his chair, lifted Riette
lightly and carried her out of the room.

" Now I am in prison no longer." he said. " I
am going to run across to La Mariniere; will
you come too, little cousin? "

But Monsieur Joseph had something to say to
that. He would not let Angelot go without ser-
mons so long that the boy could hardly listen to
them, on the care he was to take that no servant
or dog at La Mariniere saw him, on the things he
might and might not say to his mo ler.

At last Angelot said aside to Henriette : " There
is only one thing I regret — that I did not go
straight home at first to my father and mother.
That will bring misfortune on us all, if anything
does — my uncle is absolutely too much of a
conspirator."

" Hush, you are ungrateful," said Riette.
grave!/.

"h-r:

THE LIGHTED WINDOWS 347

" Ah ! It seems to me that I am nothing good
or fortunate — everything bad and unlucky ! My
relations and their politics toss me like a ball,"
Angelot sighed impatiently. " I wish this night
were over and we were on our way, I and that ex-
cellent grumpy Cesar. And the farther I go, the
more I shall want to come back. Tiens ! Riette,
I am miserable ! "

The child gazed at him with her great eyes,
full of the love and understanding of a woman.

" Courage! " she said. " You will come back
— with the King."

" The King ! " Angelot repeated bitterly. " Ask
Martin Joubard about that. Hear him talk of the
Emperor."

"A peasant! a common soldier! What does
he know ? " said the girl, scornfully. " I think
my papa knows better."

" Ah, well ! Believe in him ; you ire right,"
said Angelot.

They talked as they stood outside the house in
the dim starlight, waiting a few moments for
Monsieur Joseph : he chose to go part of the way
with Angelot, and consented unwillingly to take
Riette with him. The dead silence of the woods
and fields wr only broken by the moari of the
./ind ; a sadness that struck to the heart brooded
over the depths of lonely land ; far down in the
valley cold mists were creeping, and even on the
lower slopes of Monsieur Joseph's meadow a
chilly damp rose from the undrained ground. As

i i

iWsi-:

il ' t

348

ANGELOT

far as one could tell, not a human being moved in
the woods ; the feet -f Monsieur d'Ombre's mes-
senger had passed up the lane out of hearing ; all
was solitary and silent about the quaint turreted
house with its many shuttered windows and dark
guards lying silent, stretched on the sand. Only
one of these rose and shook himself and followed
his master.

But the loneliness was not so great as it seemed.
Behind a large tree to leeward of the house,
Simon was lurking alone. He had sent his men
away for the night, and he ground his teeth with
rage when he saw his victim, out of reach for the
time. For he had not the courage, with no law
or right on his side, to face the uncle and nephew,
armed and together.

Avoiding the open starlit slope, those three
with the dog passed at once into the shadow of
the woods, thus taking the safest, though not the
shortest way to La Mariniere. Simon stole after
them at a safe distance. They came presently to
a high corner in a lane, where, over the bank on
which the pollard oaks stood in line, they could
look across to the other side of the valley. As a
rule, the Chateau de Lancilly was hardly to be
seen after sunset, facing east, and its own woods
shadowing it on three sides ; but to-night its long
front shone and glowed and flashed with light;
every window seemed to be open and illumi-
nated ; the effect was so festal, so dazzling, that
Riette cried out in admiration. Monsieur Joseph

THE LIGHTED WINDOWS 349

exclaimed angrily, and Angelot gazed in si-
lence.

"Ah, papa! It is the ball! How beautiful!
How I wish I could be there! " cried the child.

" No doubt ! " said Monsieur Joseph. " Ex-
actly! You would like to dance till to-morrow
morning, while Ange is escaping. Well, shall I
take you across there now ? One of your pretty
cousins would lend you a ball-dress ! "

Riette's blus ies could not be seen in the dark,
but she said no more. Monsieur Joseph walked
on a few paces and stopped.

Ange will go quicker without us," he said.
"Go, my boy, and God bless and protect you.
We have given those rascals of police the slip, I
think, or they have decided that you are not to be
caught here. For the last day or two Tobie has
seen nothing of them. But remember you are not
safe ; go cautiously and come back quickly. Do
not let your mother keep you long. I believe I am
doing very wrong in letting you go to her at all ! "

" As to that, Uncle Joseph, it is certain that I
won't leave the country without seeing her," said
Angelot.

"Go, th..), and don't be long, don't be rash;
remember ihat I am dying with impatience. You
have the pistols I gave you ? "

" Yes."

Don't shoot a gendarme if you can help it.
It might make things more serious. Away with
you! Come, Riette."

I I

350

ANGELOT

iill^^

As the two walked back along the lane, Simon
scrambled out of their way, like Angelot out of
his, into the thick mass of one of the old truisses.
The dog looked up at the tree and growled as they
passed. Monsieur Joseph glanced sharply that
way, but saw nothing, and called the dog to iol-
low him, walking on a little more quickly.

" He will go straight to La Mariniere," he was
saying to Riette, " stay twenty minutes or so with
his mother, and be back at Les Chouettes in less
than an hour " — a piece of information not lost
on Simon, who climbed down carefully from his
tree, looked to his carbine, and chuckled as he
walked slowly on towards La Mariniere.

" Nothing in the world like patience," he said
to himself. " Monsieur le General ought to
double my reward for this. I was right from the
beginning; that old devil of a Chouan had the
boy hidden in that robber's den of his. The fel-
lows thought I was wasting my time and theirs.
They didn't like being half starved and catching
cold in the woods. I have had all the trouble in
the world to hold them down to it. But what does
it matter, so that we catch our game after all ! I
must choose a good place to drop on the youngster
— lucky for me that he couldn't live without see-
ing his mother. Is he armed ? Never mind ! I
must be fit to die of old age if I can't give an ac-
count of a boy like that. His mother, eh ? Why
did his father go to Paris, if they knew he was
here? Perhaps tlicy thought it wiser to keep the

THE LIGHTED WINDOWS 351

good news from Monsieur Urbain ; these things
divide families. They let him go off on a wild-
goose chase after a pardon or something. Well,
so that I catch him, tie him up out of the General's
way, get my money, start off to Paris to see my
father, and — perhaps — never come back — for
this affair may make another department pleas-
anter — "

So ruminated Simon, as he strolled through the
lanes in the starlight, following, as he supposed,
in the footsteps of Angelot, and preparing to lie
in wait for him at some convenient corner on his
return.

But when his uncle and cousin left him, disap-
pearing into the shadows, Angelot leaped up on
the bank and stood for a minute or two gazing
across at Lancilly. To watch till her shadow
passed by one of those lighted windows — if not
to climb to some point where he might see her,
herself, without breaking his word to her father
and attempting to speak to her — it might cost
an extra half-hour and Uncle Joseph's displeasure,
perhaps. But after all. what was leaving all the
rest of the world compared with leaving her,
Helene, and practically for ever? His gentle,
frightened love, to whom he had promised all the
strength and protection he had to give, to whom
invisible cords drew him across the valley !

" No, I cannot ! " Angelot said to himself. He
waited for no second thoughts, but jumped down
into the field beyotid ■,he bank, and did not even

it
■I

352

ANGELOT

trouble himself to keep in the shadow while with
long light strides he ran towards Lancilly.

Two hours later Monsieur Joseph was pacing
up and down, wildly impatient, in front of his
house. Over his head, Riette listened behind
closed shutters, and heard nothing but his quick
tramp, and an angry exclamation now and then
against Angelot. At last Monsieur Joseph
stopped short and listened. The dogs barked, but
he silenced them ; then came a swinging light and
two figures hqrrying along the shadowy footpath
from La Mariniere. Another instant, and Ur-
bain's strong voice rang through the night that
brooded over Les Chouettes.

"Joseph, you incorrigible old Chouan! what
have you done with my boy ? "

■

CHAPTER XXIII

A DANCE WITH GENERAL RATONEAU

All this time, and lately with her son's ener-
getic help, Madame de Sainfoy had been arrang-
ing her rooms in the most approved fashion of
the day. The new furniture was far less beautiful
than the old, and far less suited to the character
of the house; still, like everything belonging to
the Empire, it had a severe magnificence. The
materials were mahogany and gilded bronze ; the
forms were classical, lyres, urns, winged sphinxes
everywhere. In the large salon the walls were
hung with yellow silk instead of the old, despised,
but precious tapestries, the long curtains that
swept the floor were yellow silk, with broad bands
of red and yellow and a heavy fringe of red and
yellow balls. These fashions were repeated n
each room in different colours, green, biuo, reo :
a smaller salon, Madame de Sainfoy's favourite,
was hung with a peculiar green flecked with gold ;
and for the chairs in this room she, Helene, Madv:
moiselle Moineau. and the young girls were work-
ing a special tapestry with wreaths of grapes or
asters, lyres. Roman heads which suggested Na-
poleon. Certain unaccountable stains on this

353

354

ANGELOT

■'4

fine work brought a nmile long years afterwards
into the lovely eyes if Helcne.

Paper and paint, innovations at Lancilly, had
much to do in beautifying the old place. Dark
rooms were well iit up by a white paper with a
broad border of red and yellow twisted ribbons.
Old stone chimneypieces, window-sills, great
solid shutters, were covered thick with yellow
paint.

The ideas of Captain Georges were still more
modern than those of Urbain, and suited his
mother better. She was angry with Urbain for
forsaking her business and hurrying off to Paris
in search of his worthless son ; she was especially
angry that he went without giving her notice, or
offering to do any of the thousand commissions
she could gladly have given him. However, these
faults in Urbain only made Georges more valua-
ble; and it was with something not far short of
fury that she refused to listen to her husband when
he suggested that the ball might be put off because
of the trouble and sorrow that hung over his
cousins at La Mariniere.

The ball was stately and splendid. At the din-
ner-party a few weeks before, only a certain num-
ber of notables had been present, and chiefly old
friends of the family. To the ball came
everybody of any pretension whatever, within a
radius of many miles. Lancilly stood in Anjou,
but near the borders of Touraine and Maine;
all these old provinces were well represented.

A UANCE WITH RATONEAU 355

Many of the giiests wer** returned emigrants : old
sentiment connected with the names of Sainfoy
and Lancilly brought them. Many more were
new people of the Empire; mushroom famiUes,
on whom the older ones looked curiously and
scornfully. There was a brilliant and <lashing
body of officers from Sonnay-le-Loir, with Gen-
eral Ratcneau at their head. There were a num-
ber of civil officials of the Empire, though the
Prefect himself was not there.

Ratoneau was in a strange state of mind. In
his full-dress uniform, his gold lace and pltnnes,
he looked his best, a manly and handsome soldier.
Every one turned to look at him, struck by the
likeness to Napoleon, stronger than ever that
night, for he was graver, quieter, more dignified
than usual. He was not at his ease, and oddly
enough, the false position suited him. There
could not be anything but extreme coolness and
stiffness in the greeting between him and his
host. Herve de Sainfoy had refused the man his
daughter, and heartily despised him for accepting
the formal invitation to this ball. Ratoneau knen-
that he was going to be forced as a son-in-
law on this coldly courteous gentleman, but let
no sign of his coming triumph escape him. Not,
at least, to Helene's father; her mother was a
different story. As the General drew himself up-
right again, after bending stiffly to kiss her hand,
he met his hostess's eyes with such a bold look
of confident understanding that she flushed a little

356

ANGELOT

and almost felt displeased. He was not discreet,
she thought. He had no business so to take her
sympathy for granted. Other people might have
caught that glance and misunderstood it.

She stood f( r a moment, frowning a little, the
graceful lines of her satin and lace, her head
crowned with curls, making a perfect picture of
what she meant to be, a great lady of the Empire.
Then her look softened suddenly, as Georges
came up to her.

" Listen to me a moment, mamma. General
Ratoneau wishes to dance with Helene. She told
me this afternoon that she would not dance with
him. I say she must. What do you say ? "

Madame de Sainfoy twirled her fan im-
patiently.

"Where is she?"
" There."

A quadrille was just beginning; the dancers
were arranging themselves. The Vicomte des
Barres, one of the most strongly »leclared Royal-
ists present, was leading Mademoiselle de Sain-
foy forward.

He was familiar with the details of the mis-
sion to England, on which the Baron d'Ombre
was to start that very night ; but not even to him
had been confided Angelot's escape and Monsieur
Joseph's further plans. He was one of the many
guests who had been struck by the heartlessness
of the Sainfoys in giving a ball at this moment.
but who came to it for reasons of their own. He

A DANCE WITH RATOXEAU 357

came with the object of hoodwitikingf tlie local
police, who were watchinjj him and his friends,
of scattering the Chouan party antl giving Cesar
d'Ombre more chance of a safe and (|uiet start.

The manners, the looks, the talk of Des Barres
were all of the old regime. He had its charm, its
sympathetic grace; and it was witii a feeling of
relief and safety that Helene gave her hand to
him for the dance, rather tl.an to one of the young
Empire heroes whose eyes were eagerly following
her.

" Your sister is a fool," said Madame de Sain-
foy, very low.

"That is my impression," said Georges; and
they both ga;^ed for an instant at the couple as
they advanced.

Helene's loveliness that night was extraordi-
nary. The music, the lights, the wonderful beauty
of the scene in those gorgeous rooms, the light-
hearted talk and laughter all about her, had lifted
the heavy sadness that lay on her brow and eyes.
When every one seemed so gay. could life be quite
hopeless, after all? The tender pink in her
clieeks that night was not due to her mother's
rouge-box, with which she had often been threat-
f ncd. She was smiling at some pretty old-world
compliment from Monsieur des Barres. He. for
his part, asked himself what the grief could be
which lay behind that smile of hers, and found
it easy enough to have his question answered. In
a few minutes, in the ititervals of the dance, they

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358

ANGELOT

i i:
if I

were talking of her cousin Angelot, his mysteri-
ous arrest, the possible reasons for it. Helene's
story was plainly to be read in the passion of her
low voice, her darkening eyes, the quick changes
of her colour. Monsieur des Barres was startled,
yet hardly surprised; it seemed as natural that
two such young creatures should be attracted to
each other, as that their love should be a hopeless
fancy; for no reasonable person could dream
that Monsieur de Sainfoy would give his daughter
to a cousin neither rich nor fortunate. Me did his
best to cheer the girl, without showing that he
guessed her secret. It must be some mistake, he
assured her; the government could have no good
reason for detaining her cousin, who — " unfor-
tunately,"^ said Monsieur des Barres, with a
smile— "was not a Royalist conspirator at all."
He had the satisfaction of gaining a look and a
smile from Helene which must have brought a
young man to her feet, and which even made his
well-trained heart beat a little quicker.

Georges de Sainfoy was resolved that his sister
should not insult her family again by dancing
with a known Chouan. For the next dance,
Helene found herself in the possession of General
Ratoneau, clattering sword, creaking boots, and
all. Monsieur des Barres, looking back as he
withdrew, saw a cold statue, with white eyelids
lowered, making a deep curtsey to the General
under her brother's stern eyes.

" Poor little thing! " the Vicomte said to him-

-^m^.

A DANCE WITH RATONEAU 359

!m; "f°°'-'^'"''"-!"-' The pretty boy is impos-
s.bJe of course. These cousi„s arc the .levil
But It IS a pity!" "•

General Katoneau danced very badly and did
no. care to dance n,uch. He had no n t'c, t ont

but he daughter of the house, whon, in hi „wp
mmd he alrea.ly regarded as betrothed .0 :,i,u
He had sattsfactory letters fron, his friend n

Comte de San,foy would 1« sent off i„,n,ediately
It was d.ftcult for him not to boast amon^ hfs
comrades of his coming marriage, but he had ju
dec ncy enough to hold his tongt,e. According
o US ca Iculattons, the order might have arrived

Helene endured him as a partner, and was a

pu ve H rjT"" '°' "■ S'-' f"""" him re-
pul .ve, dtshked meeting the bold admiration

to Z T- ""'I' '' "° °"^ '«" "-"'°"ed him

7ZT„ y " '"'' "°' "PP^^"-"' =" Lancilly

s.nce the dmner-party, she had ceased to have anv
mmed,a,e fear of him. And all the bril laTy of
h t ev^nrnj. ,he triumphant swing of the music
the conscousness of her own beauty, de'VateW
hetghtened by her (irs. partner's looks and wo d
and as,, not least, the comfort he had givl hV;
about Angelot, had raised her drooping fpirTts"

, t

360

ANGELOT

" W

\ 'mfi

1 ,'

■'•»■; I k

mil

that she found it not impossible to smile and speak
graciously, even with General Ratoneau.

After dancing, he led her round the newly dec-
orated rooms, and all the new fashions in furni-
ture, in dress, in manners, made a subject for talk
which helped her wonderfully. Ratoneau listened
with a smiling stare, asked questions, and laughed
now and then.

On the surface, his manner was not oflfensive;
he was behaving beautifully, according to his
standard; probably no young woman had ever
been so politely treated by him before. In truth,
Helene's fair beauty and stateliness, the white
dignity of a creature so far above his experience,
awed him a little. But with a man of his kind,
no such feeling was likely to last long. Any
strange touch of shyness which protected the
lovely girl by his side was passing off jk he swore
to himself: "I have risked something, God
knows, but she's worth it all. I am a lucky man
— I shall be proud of my wife."

They were in the farther salon, not many people
near. He turned upon her suddenly, with a look
which brought the colour to her face, " Do you
know, mademoiselle, you are the most beautiful
woman in the world ! "

Helene shook her head, a faint smile struggling
with instant disgust and alarm. She looked
round, but saw no one who could release her
from this rough admirer. She was obliged to
turn to him again, and listened to him with low-

A DANCE WITH RATONEAU 361

ered eyes, a recollection of her mother's words
weighing now upon her brain.

" The first time I saw you. mademoiselle." said
Ratoneau, "was in this room. You were'hand-
mg coffee with that cousin of yours — young La
Mariniere." ^

He sau the girl's face quiver and grow pale.
His own changed, and his smile became unpleas-
ant. He had not meant to mention that fellow,
now shut up safely somewhere — it was strange,'
by the bye. that Simon had never come back to
report himself and take his monev! However,
as he had let Angelot's name fall, there might be
some advantage to be had out of it.
^^ " I see his father is not here to-night," he said.
" Sensible man, his father."

" How should he be here! " said Helene, turn-
ing her head away. " He is gone to Paris to find
him. Ho'v could he be here, dancing and laugh-
ing — I ask myself, how can anybody — "
She spoke half aside, breaking off suddenly.
" Yourself, for instance? " said Ratoneau, star-
ing at her. " And why should you shut yourself
up and .make the whole world miserable, because
your cousir •'- a fool? But you have not done
so."

" Because it is impossible, I am not free."
" What would you be doing now, if you were
free?"

Helene shrugged her shoulders. Ratoneau
laughed.

»i

362

ANGELOT

I I

i '- 1 5

* ( -

"Does Monsieur de la Mariniere expect to
bring his son back with him ? " he asked.

His tone was sneering, but Helene did not no-
tice it.

" I do not know, monsieur," she said. " But
my cousin will come back. He has done nothing.
He has been in no plots. The Emperor cannot
punish an innocent man."

She looked up suddenly, cheered by repeating
what Monsieur des Barres had told her. Her
pathetic eyes met Ratoneau's for a moment;
surely no one could be cruel enough to deny such
facts as these. In the General's full gaze there
was plenty of what was odious to her, but no real
kindness or pity. She blushed as she thought:
"How dares this i. m look at me so? He is
nothing but the merest acquaintance. He is in-
supportable."

" If we were to go back into the ballroom,
monsieur," she said gravely, beginning to move
away. " My mother will be looking for me."

" No, mademoiselle," said Ratoneau, coolly, " I
think not. Madame la Comtesse saw me take you
this way."

He sat down on a sofa, spreading his broad
left hand over the gilded sphinx of its arm. With
his right hand he pointed to the place beside him.

" Sit down there," he said.

Helene frowned with astonishment, caught her
breath and looked round. There were two or
three people at the other end of the room, but all

A DANCE WITH RATONEAU 363

strangers to her. and all passing out gradually,
no one conung towards her, no one to rescue her
from the extraordinary manners of this man

The glance she gave him was as withering as
her gentle eyes could make it ; then she turned her
back upon h,m and began to glide away, alone
down the room. '

"Mademoiselle-" said Ratoneau; his voice
grated on her ears.

she^v?.^'^''f '?^- ^^^^^^^^"^0'? in any case
she was resolved not to speak to the insolent
creature agam.

"Listen mademoiselle." said Ratoneau, more
loudly, and without rising. "Listen! I will
ormg your cousin back."

She wavered, paused, then turned and looked
at h.m. He gazed at her gravely, intently; his
look and manner were a little less offensive now
Jes — I am not an ogre," he said. " I don't
eat boys and girls. But I assure you there are
people m the Empire who do. And you are quite
wrong If you think that an innocent man is never
puntshed The police may have their reasons -
bang there go the big gates of Vincennes, and
the stronger reason that opens them again is hard
to nnd. Innocent : guilty _ after all, that pretty
cousm of yours has touched a good deal of pitch
in the way of chouannerie, mademoiselle."
^^ ^o" jaid — " Helene waited and stammered
1 said I would bring him back. You want
to understand me ? Sit down beside me here "

3^'4

ANGELOT

'■'-rn.

The girl hesitated. "Courage! for Ange-
lot!" she said to herself.

She (lid not believe in the man; she dreaded
him ; shrank from hir.i ; but the name she loved
was even more powerful than Ratoneau had ex-
pected.

" Ah, but we will send that little cousin to the
wars, or to America," he thought, as she came
slowly back and let herself sink down, pale and
cold, in the opposite corner of the sofa.

"Where is my cousin, monsieur?" she said
under her breath.

" I suppose, as the police arrested him, that
he is in their hands." ■ said Ratoneau. "Where
he is at this moment I know no more than you
do."

"But you said — "

" Yes — I will do it. You can believe, can you
not, that I have more influence at headquarters
than poor Monsieur de la Mariniere — a little
country squire who has saved himself by licking
the dust before each man in power? "

" It is not right for you to speak so of my
father's cousin, who has been so excellent for
us all," Helene said quickly; then she blushed
at her own boldness. " But if you can really do
this — I shall be grateful, monsieur."

The words were coldly, impatiently said; she
might have been throwing a bone to a begging
dog. Ratoneau bent forward, devouring her widi
his eyes. The delicate line rif her profile \/as

led
,'ed
ex-

tlie
me
md

aid

[lat
ere

ou
ers
tie
ng

ny
for
led
do

ihe

ng
idi
'as

i..f ■

'ii(

wk.

!»

"YOU FORGET YOURSELF — YOU ARE MAD," SHt SAID HAUGHTILY.

A DAXCR WITH RATOXEAI.: ^r.s

partly turncl away fn.,„ i.i,,,; the cydi.l.s
dro<.,,c(l sc. l„w that the lon^ hishcs ahncst rested
on tiie check. All about her l.n.w and ears,
creeping down to her white neck, the fair curls
clustered. Soft and narrow 1 .Id.- oi white nuis-
lin. lace, and fine embroidery, clotlied her slender
hgure svith an exaggerated siniplicitv. Her foot
just advanced beyond the frills of the gown. Ikt
white long fingers clasping her fan : every fev
ture. every touch, every detail, was as "finely
beautiful as art and nature could make it; Helene
was the perfection of dainty aristocracy in the
exquisite freshness of its youth.

" I will do it — I will do it — for love of you "
Ratoneau said, and his voice became .suddenly
hoarse. " You are beautiful — and you are mine
— mine."

The girl shuddered from head to foot.

" No! " she .said violently.

She did not look at Ratoneau. As to him he
did not speak, but laughed and l^nt nearer. She
rose to her feet suddenly.

"You forget yourself — you are mad. Mon-
sieur le General," she said haughtily. " If that
IS the condition -no! Prav do not concern
yourself about my cousin's afifairs. you have
nothing to do with them."

Ratoneau rose too. a littl- unsteadily.
^ "Listen one moment, mademoiselle." he said
H I am mad. ycu arc foolish, let .le tell you 1
said nothing about conditions, I stated .'acts

li^

illA^t' t

iiu

■lilt'

> i

3^'6

AxNGELOT

Vou will l)c my wife — therefore you are mine,
you hclonj; to nif. and tliercforc there is iiothitijj I
will not do for love of you. My witc is the most
beautiful uouian in France, and she stand> iiere."

'* Never, never! " murmured llelene. *' It lias
come!" she said to herself.

Her mother had threatened her with this; and
now, apparently, all had heen settled without a
word to her. V.wn her father, once on her side,
nuist he against her now. He had been angry
with her; not without reason, she knew. Yes,
this horrible thing had been arranged by her
father, her mother. (Icorges. while she was kept
a prisoner upstairs. If they iiad been kinder to
her in the last few days, it w^is only that they
wished to bring their victim smiling to the sac-
rifice. No wonder Georges had insisted on her
dancing with General Ratoneau. No wonder her
mother had taken pains to dress her beautifully
for this ball, which she hated and dreaded so
much.

These thoughts, with a wild desire to escape,
nished through Helene's mind as she stood
breathless before this man who laid such a dar-
ing claim to her. He was smiling, though his
lips were white. Tt is not pleasant to be treated
as horrible scum of the earth by the woman you
have arranged to marry; to see scorn, disgust.
hatred in a girl's face, answering to your finest
compliments.

"This young lady has a character — she has

A DAN'CE WITH RATONICAU 367

a temper

lie nmttcrcd between his teeth.

Out

Vi>U Uil

III- tamed, ma \>v

10 UOI.Iil

have thiniKdit with th..sc pale checks ..f yours —
wtll, the lCmptTi»r"s commauil will hrinj,' y< • to
reason. I'ity I sp^ke. perhaps — Init a man can-
not keej) co(.l always. I Iiat commaiul — Ah.
thousand thimder- ! what do I

si-e

le last words were sp<.ken aloud. .\s I lei

ene

stood before him, silent, rooted with horror to
the gfiuuid. he watching: he- with folded arms
in a favourite imperial attui. le. several sets of
people strolled across the lower end of the ro..m

for tl

us was one of a suite of sal

ons.

denly came the master of tiie 1
ini? slowlv, his eves fixed

Sud-

iiiuse alone, wa

Ik-

on a letter in lii>

hand.

his ''ace deathly white in the .yliinmer <•{ the many
wax candles. Ileletic did n, .t see her father at
fir t, f<ir her hack wis t'jrned b> hint, but at the

!>■. :m<l w.'is ju>t
roiiui.

ricneral's word, she ti'.nied .|i!i(

aware of him as he \K\-<vi\ int-. the next

w f ird ( If ]( iiik-

\\'ithout anotlier

ner sta!idinij- there, and lied

!\\a

him. R atone

he left her part-
y in i)ur-uit of

lu watched the wliite tis/ure

idiin,<r, l-'uHied aloud, and

van-

lieartilv.

This is dramatic." he said. " F

•rtunate that

I have a friend ai Omn in :\Ia(laiiie la Comtesse!
Suppose I ,£ro and j< in her."

Helene searched i>r Iier father in vain. By
the time she renrhed the other room, he had
quite unaccountably vat^ished. As she tl
rather distractedl

ew on

y among the guests, hurryii.g

368

ANGELOT

back to the ball-room, her brother's peremptory
hand was laid upon her arm.

" What is the matter, Helene ? Where are you
running? Are you dancing with no one, and
why do you look so wild? "

Helene answered none of these questions.

" Find me a partner, if you please," she said,
with a sudden efifort at collecting herself. " But,
Georges — no more of your officers."

Georges looked at her with a queer smile, but
only said —

" And no more of your Chouans ! "

!>'*■ I

CHAPTER XXIV

HOW MONSIEUR DE SAINFOY FOUND A WAY OUT

If Angelot expected to find tlie usual wood-
land stillness, that nijjht. about the approaches to
the Chateau de Lancilly. he was mistaken. The
old place was surroumled ; numbers of servants,
ranks of carriages, a few gendarmes and soldiers.
Half the villages were there, too. crowding about
the courts, under the walls, and pressing espe-
cially round the chief entrance f)n the west, where
a bridge over the old moat led into a court sur-
rounded with liigh-i)ilc(l buildings, one stately
roof rising above another. Monsieur de Sainfoy
kept up the old friendly fashion, and no gates shut
off his neighbours from his domain.

Angelot came through the wood, which almost
touched the house and shadowed the moat on the
north side. Pe had meant to go in at some door,
to pass through one of the halls, perlnps. and catch
a glimpse of the dancing. All this now seemed
more difficult : he could not go among the people
without being recognised, and though, as far as
himself was concerned, he would have dared any-
thing for a sight of Helene. loyalty to his uncle
stood in the way of foolhardiness.

2B 369

X M -'

1 »i

'.' I- 1

■mi ■'

ii'i

•( m

; i'.

4iig

370

ANGELOT

He walked cautiously towards the steps leading
down into the moat. This corner, far from any
entrance, was dark and solitary. The little door
in the moat was probahly still blocked ; but in any
case the ivy was there, and the chapel window —
heaven send it open, or at least unbarred !

" I shall do no harm to-night. Cousin Herve.
I shall see her dancing with some happy fellow.
If I don't know Lancilly well enough to spend ten
minutes in the old gallery — nobody will be there
— well, then — "

" Monsieur Angelot ! " said a deep voice out of
the darkness.

" Not an inch nearer, or I fire ! " Angelot re-
plied, and his pistol was ready.

" Tiens ! Don't kill me, for I am desperately
glad to see you," and Martin Joubard limped for-
ward. " You got away from those ragamuffins,
then ? I thought as much, when I heard they had
been watching the woods. But where are you hid-
ing, and what are you doing here? Take care,
there are a lot of police and gendarmes about.
Are you safe? "

" No, I'm not safe — at least my uncle says so.
Did you think I would stay with those rascals
long?" Angelot laughed. "I'm going out of
the country to-night. Hold your tongue, Mar-
tin. Wait here. I will come back this way,
and you can warn me if there is any one on the
track."

" Going out of the country without seeing

A WAY OUT

371

madame, and she breaking her heart? " said Mar-
tin, disapproving.

" No, I am on my way. Pst ! I hear foot-
steps," and Angelot dropj)cd into the moat, while
the soldier stepped back into the shadow of the
trees.

" On his way to La Marinicre — from his un-
cle's! Rather roundabout. Monsieur Angelot.
Ah, but to have all one's limbs ! " sighed Martin,
smiling, for plenty of gossip had reached him;
and he listened to the gay music which made the
air dance, and to the voices and laughter, till he
forgot everything else in the thrilling knowledge
that somebody was scrambling up through the ivv
on the opposite wall. There was a slight clank
and crash among the thick depth of leaves; then
silence.

" He ought to be one of us. that boy ! " thought
Martin. " I'll wait for him. T like a spark of
the devil. My father says Monsieur Joseph was
a thorough polisson, and almost as pretty as his
nephew. He's a pious little gentleman now.
They are a curious family ! "

Angelot slipped through the dark empty chapel,
and the wind howled behind him. He ran down
the passage between rooms that were empty and
dark, for Mademoiselle Moineau and her pupils
had been allowed to go down to the ball. He went
through stone-vaulted corridors, unhghted. cold
and lonely, across half the length of the great
house. He had to watch his moment for passing

fli.

ZT^'

ANGELOT

-^li^i

N t:t?l'

!i-^^^ii

\'.

the head of the chief staircase, for there were
people going up and down, servants trying to see
what they could of the gay doings below. Waves
of warm and scented air rolled up against his
face as he darted past, keeping close to the wall,
one moving shadow more. Music, laughing, talk-
ing, filled old Lancilly like a flood, ebbing and
flowing so ; and every now and then the tramping
of feet on the ball-room floor echoed loudest.

Angelot knew of a little gallery room with
narrow slits in the stonework, opening out of the
further passage that led to Monsieur and Madame
de Sainfoy's rooms. It used to be empty or filled
with lumber; it no^v held several large ward-
robes, but the perforated wall remained. He
found the door open; it was not quite dark, for
gleams of light made their way in from the chan-
deliers in the ball-room, one end of which it over-
looked. There were also a couple of lights in the
passage outside.

From this high point Angelot looked down
upon the ball. And first it was nothing but a
whirling confusion of sound and colour and light ;
the flying dresses, the uniforms, jewels, gold lace.
glitt;ring necklaces, flashing sword hilts. Then
— that fair head, that white figure alone.

He could hear nothing of what was said ; but
he saw her brother come up with General Raton-
eau, he watched the dance — and if those slits
in the solid wall bar] been wider, there might have

man's daring to drop

been danger of

young

A WAY OUT

373

down by his hands, trusting to fate to land him
safely on the floor below. For he saw his love
walk away with her partner down the ball-room,
out of his sight, and then he waited in unbearable
impatience, but saw her no more for what seemed
ci long time. He began to think that he must go,
carrying with him the agony of leaving her in
familiar talk with Ratoneau, when suddenly he
saw her again, and forgot his mother, his uncle,
Cesar d'Ombre, and all the obligations of life.
She came back alone : her brother was speaking to
her; she looked troubled, there was something
strange about it all, but Ratoneau was not there.
That, at least, was well ; and how divinely beau-
tiful she looked ! ,

Angelot gazed for a nunute or two. holding his
breath ; then a sudden step and a voice in the cor-
ridor close by startled him violently. He had left
the door half open, standing where he could not
be seen through it. He now turned his head to
see who was passing. It was the step of one per-
son only, a quick and agitated step. Was this
person then speaking to him? No. it was his
cousin Herve de Sainfoy. and he was talking to
himself. He was repeating the same words over
and over again : " But who can save us ? What
shall I do ? What shall T do ? Who can save us ?
A way out. he says? My God. there is none."

When his cousin had passed the door. Argelot
stepped forward and looked after him. It was
impossible not to do so. The Comte was like a

374

ANGELOT

Pilnp

ili

man who had received some terrible blow. His
face was white and drawn, and his whole frame
trembled as he walked. Pie carried an open let-
ter shaking and rustling in his hand, glanced at it
now and then, flung his clenched fists out on each
side of him.

Then he said aloud, " My God, it is her
doing!"

Angelot forgot all caution and stepped out into
the corridor. His cousin seemed to he walking
on to his own room at the end; but before he
reached it he turned suddenly round and came
hurrying back Angelot stood and faced him.

He, too, was pale from his imprisonment and
the excitement of the night, but as he met Herve
de Sainfoy's astonished gaze the colour flooded
his young face and his brave bright eyes fell.

" You here, Angelot ? " said the Comte.

He spoke absently, gently, with nc great sur-
prise and no anger at all. Angelot knew that he
loved him, and felt the strangest desire to kneel
and kiss his hand.

"Pardon, monsieur" — he began quickly —
" I was looking at the l.all — I leave France to-
morrow, and — Can I help you. Uncle Herve ? "
For he saw that the Comte was listening to no
explanations of his. He stared straight before
him, frowning, biting his lips, shaking the letter
in his hand.

" It is some diabolical intrigue," he said.
" How can you help, my poor boy ? No ! but I

A WAY OUT

375

would rather see her dead at my feet — for her
own sake — and the insult to me!"

" But tell me what it all means ? Let me do
something!" cried Angelot; for the words
thrilled him with a new terror.

He almost snatched the letter from his cousin's
ha d.

"Yes, yes. read it. Oh, mon Dieu. mon
Dieu ! " Herve groaned, and stamped his feet.

The letter was written in very shaky charac-
ters, and Angelot had to hold it under one of the
candle sconces on the wall.

^ : f

" My dear Comte : —

" You will receive to-morrow, I have reason to
think, an Imperial recommendation — which means a com-
mand — to give Mademoisel" your daughter in marriage to
General Ratoneau. If you see any way out of this dilemma,
I need hardly advise you to take it. You would have been
warned earlier of the danger, but circumstances have been
too strong for me. My part in the affair I hope to explain.
In the meanwhile believe in my sincere friendship, and burn
this letter.

"Z?« Mauves.''''

Angelot r'rew in his breath sharply. " Ah !
The Prefect is good," he said.

While he read the letter, his cousin was staring
at him. Slowly, intently, yet with a sort of vague
distraction, his eyes travelled over Angelot; the
plain shooting clothes, so odd a contrast in that
gay house, at that time of night, to his own
elegant evening dress; the handsome, clear-cut,

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376

ANGELOT

private
such things have

eager face, the young Hps set with a man's firm-
ness and energy.

" I thought you were in prison," said Herve.

" I escaped from the police."

" Why did they arrest you ? "

" I do not know. I beheve it was 1
scheme of that rascal Simon's
hai)pened."

" Tell me all — and quickly. "

Angelot began to obey him, but after a few
words broke off suddenly.

" Uncle Herve, what is the use of talking
about me? What are you going to do? Let us
think — yes, I have a plan. If you were to call
my cousin Helene quietly out of the ball-room to
chpnge her dress. I would have horses ready in
the north wood, and I would ride with you at
least part of the way to Le Mans. There you
c^uld get a post-chaise and drive to Paris. Place
her safely in a convent, and go yourself to the
Emperor — "

" And do you suppose, Angelot, that I have
enough influence with the Emperor to make him
withdraw an order already given — and do you
not know that this is a favourite amusement of
his, this disgusting plan of giving our daughters
to any butcher and son of a butcher who has
slaughtered enough men to please him? Your
uncle Joseph told us all about it. He said it was
in the Prefect's hands — I can hardly believe
that our Prefect would have treated me so. There

A WAV OUT

377

is some intrigue behitul all this. 1 suspect — ah.
I will teach them to play their tricks on me! A
convent — my poor boy. do you '.xpect they
would leave her there? Even a hundred years
ago they would have dragged her out for a polit-
ical marriage — how much more now ! "

For a moment there was dead silence; they
looked hard at each other, hut if Angelot read
anything in his cousin's eyes, it was something
too extraordinary to be believed. He flushed
again suddenly as he said. " ^'ou can never con-
sent to such a marriage, for you gave me your
word of honour that you would not."

" Will they ask my consent? I have refused it
once ilready," said Herve de Sainfoy.

He walked a few steps, and turned back; he
was much calmer now. and his face was full of
grave thought and resolution.

"Angelot," he said, "you are your father's
son, as well as your uncle's nephew. Tell me,
have you actually done anything to bring you
under imperial justice ? "

" Nothing," Angelot answered. " The police
may pretend to think so. Uncle Joseph says I
am in danger. But I have done nothing."

" Did you say you were leaving the country
to-morrow? Alone?"

" With some of Uncle Joseph's friends."
"Ah! And your father?"
" I shall come back some day. Life is too dif-
ficult," said Angelot.

lis

378

ANGELOT

4 f

" You want an anchor," Herve said, thought-
fully. " Now — will you do everything I tell
you?"

" In honour."

" Tiens ' Honour ! Was it honour that
brought >')U into my house to-night? "

" No — but not dishonour."

" Well, there is no time for arguing. I sup-
pose you are not bound in honour to this wild-
goose chase of your uncle's — or his friends' ? "

" I don't know," Angelot said; and indeed he
did not, hut he knew that Cesar d'Ombre looked
upon him as an addititm to his troubles, and had
only accepted his company to please Monsieur
Joseph.

And now the same power that had dragged
Angelot out of his way to Lancilly was holding
him fast, heart nd brain, and was saymg to him,
"You cannot go"; the strontjft'st power in the
world. He vvas trembling from head to fooi wit'n
a wilder, stranger madness than any he had ever
known; the great decisive hour of his Hfe was
upon him, and he felt it. hard as it was to realise
or understand anything in those dark, confused
moments.

What wonderful words had Herve de Sainfoy
said ? by what way had he Ijrought him, and set
him clear of the chateau? he hardly knew. He
found himself out in the dark on the south, the
village side; he had to skirt round the backs of
the houses and then slip up the river bank till he

A WAY OUT

379

carnc to the bridp^e W'tween the lonpf rows of
uhi>i)criiij,'. rusthiig i)<)i)Iars. After that a short
cut across the fields, vvlicre he knew every Inish
and every rahhit hole. hr<)uj,dit him up under the
shadow of the church at I.a Mariniere.

The Cure hved with his old housekeeper in a
low white house above the church, on the way to
the manor. She was always asleep early ; but the
old man. beinpf very studious and too nervous to
sleep much, often sat up reading till lonp^ after
niidniijht. .Xnp^elot therefore counted on finding
a light in his window, and was not dis.ippointed.
He cut his old friend's eager welcome very
short.

" Monsieur le Cure, come with me at once to
the chateau, if you please. Monsieur de Sainfoy
wishes to see you."

" At this hour of the night ! What can he want
with me? I understood the whole world was
dancing."

" So it is — but he wants you, he wants you.
Quick, where is your hat ? "

" How wild you look, Angelot ! Is any one
dying?"
' " No. no ! "

" Why does he not send for his own priest ? "

" Because he wants a discreet man. He wants
you."

The Cure began to hurry about the room.

" By the bye. take your vestments." said Ange-
lot in a lower tone. " He wants you to say mass

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38o

ANGELOT

"itMiiJHU

in the chapel. Take everything you ought to
have. I will carry it all for y(.u.'"

" The chapel is not in a tit state — and who will
serve at the mass? "

" I will — or he will find somehody. Oh. tnt^t
me. Monsieur le Cure, and come, or I shall have
to carry yon."

" But you, Ange — I thought — "

'* Don't think! All your thoughts are wrong."

' My dear lH)y. have you seen your father? "
.\o! Has he come hack? "

" Two hours ago. lie has gone to Les Chou-
ettes with your mother, to find you."

"Oh. mon Dieu!" cried Angelot, and laughed
loudly.

The good old Cure was seriously frightened.
He thought that this charming hoy, whom he
had known from his hirth. was either crazy or
drunk with strong wine. Yet, as he really could
not be a raid to trust hitnself to Angelot, he did as
he was t. Id. collected all he wanted, asking ques-
tions all the time which the young man did not
or could not answer, and started off wi'h him
into the dim and chilly dampness of the night.

Angelot nearly died of impatience. He had
run all the way to La Marii:iere. he had to walk
all the way hack, and slowly. For the Cure was
feeble, and his sight was not gcd, and the lanes
and fields were terribly uneven. Anfelot had
prudence enough not to take a light, which would
have been seen a mile off, moving on tho? slopes

A WAY OUT

381

in the darkness. This precaution also hel;)e(! to
save him from Simon, wlio. after waitinj; ;'.l)out
for some time hetween Lcs Chouettes antl La
Mariniere. had seen Monsieur and Madame I'r-
hain coming out with their lantern and had
tracked them lialf the way. hearing enough of
their talk to understand that he must lay hands
on AngeUn that night, or not at all. For it
sounded as if the young man's protectors were
more powerful than Cicneral Ratoneau, his
enemy,

Simon was very uneasy, as he stole hack and
turncil towards Lancilly. shrewdly guessing that
those hright windows had attractctl Angelot. He
crpnt through the lanes like a wolf in winter,
searching for some lonely colt or ?heep to devour.
Furious and bewildered, worn out with his long
watching, he almost resolved that young La Mari-
niere should have short shrift if he met him. This,
it seemed now. was the only way to remove hiin
out of the General's path. None of his relations
knew exactly wliere he was that night. If he
were found dead in a ditch, the hand that struck
him would ne\er be known. For his own sake,
Tieneral Ratoneau would never betray the suspi-
cions he might have. At the same time, Simon
was not such a devil incarnate as to think of cold-
blooded murder without a certain horror and
sickness; and he found it in his heart to wish
that he had never seen Ratoneau.

He heard footsteps in a deep lane he was ap-

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382

ANGELOT

III

preaching, and lying clown, peered over the bank
and saw that two men had already passed him,
walking cautiously between the ruts of the road.
They carried no light, and it was so dark in the
lane that he could hardly distinguish them. One
seemed taller than the other, and walked more
feebly. There was nothing to suggest the idea
that one of these men might be Angelot. All
pointed to the contrary. He would be coming
towards La Mariniere. not going from it towards
Lancilly. He would certainly be alone ; and then
his air and pace would be different from that of
this shorter figure, who, carefully guiding his
companion, was also carrying some bundle or
load. There was a low murmur of talk which
the police spy could not distinguish, and thus, his
game within shooting distance, he allowed him to
walk away unharmed. He followed the two men
slowly, however, till he lost them on the edge of
the park at Lancilly. There Angelot took the
Cure by a way of his own into the wood, and led
him up by a path soft with dead leaves to the
north side of the chateau,

" Monsieur Angelot ! "

It was once more Martin Joubard's voice. He
was much astonished, not having seen Angelot
leave the chateau. He stared at the Cure and
took off his hat.

"All's well. Ma. tin; you are a good sentry —
but hold your tongue a little longer," said Ange-
lot

A WAY OUT

383

"Ah! but take care, Monsieur Angelot," said
the soldier, pointing with his stick to the dark,
tremendous walls which towered heyond the moat.
" I don't know what is going on there, but don't
venture too far. There's a light in the chapel
window, do you see? and just now I heard them
hammering at the little door down there in the
moat. It may be a trap for you. Listen, though,
seriously. I don't know what sport you may be
after, but you ought not to run Monsieur le Cure
into it, and so I tell you. It is not right."

The good fellow's voice shook with anxiety.
He did not pretend to be extra religious, but his
father and mother reverenced the Cure, and he
had known him ever since he was born.
Angelot laughed impatiently.
" Come. Monsieur le Cure," he said. " \\'e are
going down into the moat, but the steps are un-
even, so give me your hand."

" Do not be anxious. IMartin," said the old man.
"All is well. Monsieur de Sainfoy has sent for
me."

The crippled sentry waited. In the deep shad-
ows he could see no more, but he heard their steps
as they climbed down and crossed the moat, and
then he heard the creaking hinges f)f that door
far below. It was cautiously closed. All was
dark and still in the moat, but shadows crossed
the lighted chapel window.

The wind was rising, the clouds were flying.
and the stars shining out. Waves of music flowed

384

ANGELOT

I ■

from the south side of the long mass of building,
and sobbed away into the rustling woods. An
enchanting valse was being played. Georges de
Sainfoy was dancing with the richest heiress in
Touraine, and his mother was so engrossed with a
new ambition for him that she forgot Helene for
the moment, and her more certain future as the
wife of General Ratoneau.

Madame de Sainfoy had not seen her husband
since he received the Prefect's 'etter, and was not
aware of his disappearance from the ball, now at
the height of its success and splendour.

1 ■. '

i||;;i:

CHAPTER XXV

HOW THE CURE ACTED AGAINST HIS
CONSCIENCE

If the old riest had come in faith at Monsieur
de Sainfoy's call, not knowing, not even suspect-
i what was wanted of him, Angelot. who
knew all, yet found it impossible to believe.
Therefore he could not bring himself to give the
Cure any explanation, or even to mention Helene's
name. Her father, for whom he now felt a pas-
sionate, enthusiastic reverence and love, had
trusted him in the matter. He had said, resting
his hand on his shoulder : " Tell Monsieur le
Cure what you please. Or leave it to me to
tell him all ; " and Angelot had felt that the
Cure must be brought in ignorance. Afterwards
he knew that there were other reasons for this,
besides the vagueness in his own mind. The
Cure had a great sense of the fitness of things.
Also, next to God and his Bishop, he felt bound
to love and serve Urbain and Anne de la
Mariniere.

When Angelot opened the little door, which he
found ajar, there was a flickering light on the
damp narrow stairs that wound up in the thick-

♦

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386

ANGELOT

■■i 1'

ness of tlie wall. There stood Herve de Sainfoy,
tall, pale, very calm iicnv, with a look of resolu-
tion quite new to his pleasant features.

" V(ju are welcome, Monsieur le Cure," he
said. " Follow me."

The old man obeyed silently, and the two passed
on before Angelot. When they reached the top-
most windinjj of the staircase, Ilerve led the
Cure round into the corridor, still carrying his
light, and saying, " A word alone with you." At
the same time he motioned to Angelot to go for-
wird into the chapel.

The aitar was partly arranged for service, the
candles were lighted, and one white figure, its
face hidden, was kneeling there. Angelot stood
and looked for a moment, with dazzled eyes.
The wind moaned, the distant valse flowed on.
Here in the old neglected chapel, under the kind
eyes of the Virgin's statue, he had left Helene
that night, weeks ago. He had never seen her
since, except in the ball-room this very evening,
lovely as a dream ; but she was lovelier than an\
dream now.

He went up softly beside her, stooped on one
knee and kissed the fingers that rested on the old
worm-eaten bench. She looked up suddenly.
blushing scarlet, and they both rose to their feet
and stood quite still, looking into each other's
eyes. They did not speak; there was nothing
to say, except " I love you," and words were not
necessary for that. At first there w? > terror and

AGAINST HIS CONSCIENCE 387

bewilderment, rather than happiness, in Helene's
face, and her hands trembled as Angelot held
them ; but soon under his gaze and his touch a
smile was born. All those weeks of desolate
loneliness were over, her one and only friend
stood beside her once again, to leave her no
more. The horrors of that very night, the terri-
ble ball-room full of glittering uniforms and
clankmg swords, the odious face and voice of
Ratoneau ; — her father had beckoned her away,
had taken her from it all for ever. He had told
i.er in a few words of the Prefect's letter and his
resolution, without even taking the trouble to ask
her if she would consent to marry her cousin.
"It is the only thing to be done," he said.
Neither of them had even mentioned her mother.
The suspicion that his wife had had something to
do with this imperial order made Herve even
more furious than the order itself, and more re-
solved to settle the affair in his own way.

"Now I understand," he thought, "why
Adelaide invited the brute to this ball. I wager
that she knew what was coming. It is time I
showed them all who is the master of this house ! "
And now, when everything was arranged, when
the bridegroom and the bride were actually wait-
ing in the chapel, when every minute was of
importance and might bring some fatal interrup-
tion — now, here was the excellent old Cure full
of curious questions and narrow-minded objec-
tions.

388

ANGELOT

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:;(

f::

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JMi

to,

"Monsieur le Comte, impossible!" he cried
in the corridor. " Marry mademoiselle your
daughter to Ange de la Mariniere — and without
any proper notice, without witnesses, at midnight,
unknown to his parents! Do you take me for a
constitutional priest, may T ask?"

" No, Monsieur le Cure, and that is why I de-
mand this service of you. You, an old friend of
both families. I send for you rather than for my
own Cure of Lancilly."

"Ah, I dare say ! But do I understand that
you are disobeying an order from the Emperor?
Am I to ruin myself, by aiding and abetting you ?
Besides — "

" No, Monsieur le Cure, you understand noth-
ing of the kind I explain nothing. You run
yourself into no clanger — but if you did, I should
ask you all the more. A man like you, who held
firm to his post through the Revolution — "

" Pardon — I did not hold firm. Monsieur
de la Mariniere protected me."

" And now I will protect you. Listen. I have
had no order from the Emperor. I have heard,
by means of a friend, that such an order is on its
way. It would compel me to marry my daughter
to a mfcii she hates, a degrading connection for
me. There is only one way of saving her. You
know that she and young Ange love each other —
they have suffered for it — we will legalise this
love of theirs. When the order reaches me, my
Helene will be already married. The Emperor

AGAINST HIS COXSCIILXCE 389

: t'

can say nothing. His rieiieral must seek a wife
elsewhere. Now, Monsieur le Cure, are you sat-
isfied? The children are waiting."

" No, monsieur, no. I am not satisfied. I Miink
there is more risk than you tell me. hut 1 do not
mind that. I will not. I cannot, many younjj^
Ange to your daughter without his father's"
knowledge. Your cousin — God ])less liim ! — is
not a religious man, hut I owe him a deht I can
never repay."

Count Herve laughed angrily. " You know
very well," he said, " that if Urhain is displeased
at this marriage, it will he for our sake, not his
own. How could he hope for such a match for
Angelot?"

" His love for you is wonderful. Monsieur le
Comte. But I am not talking of his likings or
dislikings. I say that I will not marry these
young people without his consent."

" And I say you will. Understand, I mean
it. Listen ; my cousin Joseph was sending Ange
to England to-night with some of his friends
out of the way of the police. I will dress Helene
up as a boy. and send her with him, trusting to a
marriage when they land. I will do anything
to get her ofT my hands to-night, and Angelot
will not fail me. The responsibility is yours,
Monsieur le Cure."

The old man wrung his hands. " Monsieur
le Comte, you are mad! " he s;ii(l.

But these threats were effectual, as no fear of

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390

ANGELOT

personal suffering would have been, and the Cure,
though solemnly T)rotesting, submitted.

The delay he caused was tiot yet over, however.
No angry frowns and impatient words would in-
duce him to begin the service before the two
young people had separately made their confes-
sion to him. Luckily, both were ready to do this,
and neither was very long; when at last the Cure,
properly vested, began with solemn deliberation
the words of the sfivice, his eyes were full of
tears, not altogether unhappy.

" Two white souls, madame," he told Anne
afterwards. " Your son and your daughter —
you may love them freely, and trust their love for
you and for each other. Xcvcr diil I join the
hands of two such innocent children as our dear
Ange and his Helene."

He had, in fact, just joined their hands for
the first time, when he looked round anxiously
at Monsieur de Sainfoy and murmured, " There
is no one you can trust, monsieur — no other
possible witness? "

"None," the Comte answered shortly; and
even as he spoke they all heard a sharp knocking
in the corridor, and the opening and shutting of
doors,

" Go on, go on ! This comes of all your delay."
he muttered, and Angelot looked round, alarmed,
while Helene turned white with fear.

Then the person in the corridor, whoever this
might be, evidently saw a light through some

AGAINST HIS CONSCIENXE 391

chink in the chapel door, for the latch was Hft'-d,
and a small but inipatieiit voice cried out,
" Hclene — are you there? "

It was not the voice oi Adelaide. Anpfelot
looked at Helene and smiled; the Cure hesi-
tated. Monsieur de Sainfoy walked frowning-
to the door, which he had locked, and flung it
open.

" Come in, mademoiselle," he said. " Here is
your witness, Monsieur le Cure."

Mademoiselle Moineau, flushed, agitated, in
her best gown, stood on the threshold with hands
uplifted.

" What — what is all this ? " she stammered ;
and the scene that met her eyes was certainly
strange enough to bewilder a respectable gov-
erness.

It had occurred to Madame de Sainfoy to miss
her daughter from the ball-room. Suspecting
that the stupid girl had escaped to her own room,
she had told Mademoiselle Moineau to fetch her
at once, to Insist on her coming down and danc
ing. And even now. in spite of this amazing,
horrifying spectacle, in spite of the Comte's pres-
ence, and his voice repeating, " Come in. made-
moiselle ! " the little woman was brave enough
to protest.

" What is happening? " she said, and hurried
a few steps forward. " Helene, I am astonished.
This must be stopped at once. Good heavens,
what will Madame la Comtesse say!"

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392

ANGELOT

" Let me Ijetj you to be silent, mademoiselle,"
said Hcrvt' de Sainfoy.

He had already closed and locked the door. He
now bent forward with an almost savage look;
his pleasant face was utterly transformed by
strong; feeling.

" Sit down." he said peremptorily. " You see
me; I am here. My authority is sufficient, re-
membor — IMcjusieur le Cure, have the goodness
to jjroceed."

Mademoiselle Moineau sank down on a bench
and groaned. Her shocked, staring eyes took in
every detail r)f the scene; the banished lover, the
supposed prisoner, in his country clothes, with
that dark woodland look of his; the white girl
in her ball-dress, standing with bent head, and
not moving or looking up, even at her mother's
name. The joined hands, white and brown ; the
young, low voices, plighting their troth one to the
other ; then the trembling tones of the old priest
alone in solemn Latin words, " Ego conjitngo vos
in matriinoinuin. . . ."

The ser\ ice went on ; and now no one. not even
Monsieur de Sainfoy. took any notice of the un-
willing spectator. She was a witness in spite of
herself. She sank on her knees and sobbed in a
corner, partly from real distress at a marriage
she thought most foolish and unsuitable, partly
from fear of what ^Lidame de Sainfoy might
say or do. Her rage must certainly find some vic-
tim. She would never believe that Mademoiselle

AGAINST ills CUXSCIKXCI- .^M

Moineau could not have escaped and called her
in tnne t.. interrui)t this frantic core.n..nv \s
for Monsieur de Sainfoy. his brain nnist certainly
have given way. The ,,o..r -ovcrness hop.d Mttle
from him. though he showed s„me nieth..,! in his
machiess hy leaving her lockcrl up in the chapel
when they all went away an<I telling her to wait
there m silence till he came hack. At least that
was better than being forced to go down alone to
announce this catastrophe to IL'lene's mother
The Comtesse wouM have been ca,)able of turning
her out into midnight darkness after the firs^t
dozen words.

Helene. her dearest wish and wildest dream
fulfilled m this strange fashion, seemed to 1^
wakmg in her sleep. She obeyed her father's
orders without a word to him or to Angelot
threw on a cloak, and followed them and the Cur^
down the steep blackness of the winding stairs.
At the door her father put out his light, and it
was his hand that guided her through the long
grass and bushes in the moat, while Angelt)t gave
all his care to the old priest. At the top of the
steps, as the four hastily crossed into the deeper
shadows of the wood, the tall and strange figure
of Martin Joubard appeared out of the gloom.
A few hurried words to him. and he readily un-
dertook to see the Cure safely home. The sight
of Monsieur de Sainfoy impressed him amaz-
ingly; It was evident that Monsieur Angelot
had not bee:: acting without authority. Martin

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394

ANGELOT

i 1

'} fVr-K

itm

■ i
■ft '

Stared with all his eyes at the cloaked woman's
figure in the background, hut promised himself to
have all details from the Cure on their way
through tlie lanes.

Herve de Sainfoy again gave his arm to his
daughter, i.ading her down into the darkness of
the wood. Angelot. more familiar with the ways,
walked a yard or two in front of tl.em. Several
times — his sporting instinct not dulled by the
wonderful thing that had happened — he was
aware of a slight rustling in the bushes on the
right, between the path where they were and the
open ground of the i>ark beyond the wood. Ik*
listened to this with one ear, while the other was
attentive to his father-in-law. It did not strike
Monsieur de Sainfoy. once away from the house,
that caution and silence might Ix' necessary; he
talked out of the relief and gladness of his heart,
while affectionately pressing Hclene's hand in
his arm.

" Make my compliments to your uncle. Ange-
lot. .\sk him to forgive me for taking his nephew
and sending him back a niece. He will see that
your duty lies in France now. As to that de.ir
father of yours, 1 shall soon make my peace with
him."

" Papa ! '" Helene spoke for the first time,
and Angelot forgot the rustling in the bushes.
'* Cannot we — may not we go to La Mari-
merer

" Not at first," said Ilerve. more gravely.

rtr^

[\'-llt^'i\-h'-l^'

AGAINST HIS COXSCIENCE 393

"Ange must make sure of a wclojnie there —
and he knows his luicle Josepli."

"There is another reason." Anj^elot said
eagerly. "My mide is expeiting inc. He has

made arranj^a-tnents for me — this very niglit

I nmst come to an understanding with him. You
know — " he said, K)uking at llclcnc. " my uncle
has risked much for me. To-morrow — or to-
day, is it? my mother shall welcome y«)u. You
are not displeased ? "

"No, no. Take me anywhere — I will go
anywhere you like," llelene answered a little
faintly ; the thought of Angclot's mother, slightly
as she knew her. had been sweet and comfort-
ing.

For she was a timid girl, and these wild doings
frii,dnencd her. though she loved Angelot and
trusted him with all her heart.

Her father laughed.

"Certainly, my poor girl," he said, "no
daughter of Lancilly was ever before married and
smuggled away in such a fashion."

"I am satisfied, papa," said Helene; and they
passed on through the wood and came to the
crossing of the roads, where he kissed her, and
once more laid her hand in Angelot's.

"Take care of your wife," he said to him;
and he stood a minute in the road, watching the
two young figures, very close together, as they
turned into a hollow lane that wound up into the
fields and so on towards Lcs Chouettes.

i" *

"^''^A ^

^' ^Ms 5;^

39<''

ANGELOT

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The Cure and Martin Joubard started away
from the chateau by a path that crossed the park
and reached the bridge without going through
the village. They were not yet clear of the park,
walking slowly, when a man came out of the shad-
ows of the wood to the north, and crossed
their path, going towards the south side of the
chateau. He passed at some yards' distance in
the confusing darkness of the low ground, where
mists were rising; but Martin Joubard had the
eyes of a hawk, and knew him.

"Pardon, Monsieur le Cure!" he said,
dropped the bundle he was carrying at the
Cure's feet, and sped away at his wooden leg's
best pace aicer the man.

"He, police!" he said, as he came up with
him, " what are you spying about here? Look-
ing after the Emperor's enemies?"

" You are not far wrong." said Simon. " And
you — what are you doing here, soldier?"

" My fighting days are done. I look out for
amusement now. Did you see some people just
now. going down through the wood? A young
gentleman you want — who gave you the slip —
was he there? "

"I saw and heard enough to interest me,"
Simon answered drily. " It is time to finish off
this business. I can't quite see what is going on,
but I shall find out at the chateau. I have been
following that young man all night, but I shall
catch him up now."

.* .1

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'im^i!'kjMmt^M'\i>''JWP'^^

AGAINST HIS CONSCIENCE 397

" I might help you with a little information,"
Martin said.

The police agent looked at him ^'.-;.i,Jously.
"Tell me no lies," he said, "or — he i..ani.^l
to his carbine.

"Oh, if that is your game — '■' Maui;; said.

His heavy-headed stick swung in the air.
" Crack! " it came down on the side of Simon's
head and laid him flat on the turf. Martin stood
and looked at him.

" Now the saints grant I have not killed
him," he said piously, " though I think he might
very well be spared. But he won't go and catch
Monsieur Angelot just at present."

He left Simon lying there, and went quietly
back to join the Cure.

4 =!

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CHAPTER XXVI

HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST

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For Helene, the next wonder in that autumn
night's dream was the arrival at Les Chouettes,
the mysterious house which bore the character of
a den of Chouans, but the thought of which had
always pleased her, as the home of Angeiot's most
attractive uncle.

Angelot hurried her through the lanes, almost
in silence. At last he stopped under a t?\\ poplar,
which gleamed grey in the starlight mong the
other lower trees. It was close to the spot where,
coming from Les Chouettes in the evening, he had
been irresistibly drawn by the lights of Lancilly.
Here he took Helene in his arms and kissed her
for the first time since the Cure had joined their
hands.

" Mine ! " he said. " My love, Helene ! you are
not unhappy, you are not afraid, my own? "

" I am with you," the girl said, very low.

" Ah ! if only — anyhow, I am the happiest
man in the world. Come, dearest! "

Helene wondered at him a little. He was
changed, somehow, her gay, talkative, light-
hearted, single-minded Angelot. He had become

398

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HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST 399

grave. She longed to ask him many things —
how had he escaped or heen released from prison ?
— wa? it his father's doing? — would liis father
and mother be displeased at his marriage ? — but
ik. spite of the rapture of knowing that they be-
longed to each other, she felt strangely shy of
him. In that silent, hurried walk she dimly real-
ised that her boy friend and lover had grown sud-
denly into a man. There was keen anxiety as well
as joy in the quick, passionate embrace he allowed
himself before bringing her to his uncle's hands.

They walked up to the house, over the grass
and the spreading sand. All was silent and dark,
except a gleam of light from Monsieur Joseph's
window. A dog came up and jumped on Aiigelot,
with a little whine of welcome ; another pressed
up to Helene and licked her hand. She was
standing between the dog an 'ifelot when

Monsieur Jose])h, hearing ioo . suddenly

opened the window and stepped out w-ith his gun.

He stared a moment in astonished silence —
then : " It is you. Anne ! He has been home,
then, the good-for-nothing! ^'ou have seen vour
father. Ange? Well. I told him. and I tell you.
that you must go all the same — yes. my nephew
does not break promises, or f..il to keep appoint-
ments — but come in. Anne! What is the use of
racing about the country all night? How did
you miss him. the worthless fellow? "

" This is not my mother. Uncle Joseph." Ange-
lot said, laughter struggling with earnestness,

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400

ANGELOT

while his arm sHd round Helene. " Let me pre-
sent you to my wife."

"What are you saying?" cried Monsieur
Joseph, very sharply and sternly, coming a step
nearer. " I see now — but who is t "lis lady ?
None of you*" insolent jokes — w ho is it ? Dieu !
What have you done ! "

•' I have been to *he ball at Lancilly," said An-
gelot. " You see, this is my cousin Helene. She
preferred a walk with me to a dance wiih other
people. And Uncle Herve thought — "

" Be silenL," said Monsieur Joseph. He walked
forward, pushed his nephew aside — a touch was
enough for Angelot — and gently taking Helene's
hand, drew her into the light that streamed from
his window. " Mademoiselle," he said, " my
nephew is distracted. What truth is there in all
this? Are you here with your father's know-
ledge. Something extraordinary must have hap-
pened, it seems to me."

" It is true, monsieur," Helene said, blushing
scarlet. " It was my father's doing. He sent for
the Cure, and we were married in the chapel, not
an hour ago. Do not be angry with us, I beg of
you, monsieur. He said he must bring me to you
first — and he loves you. My father did it to
save me. Ange will explain. My father sent his
compliments to you — and he said — he said
you will see that your nephew's duty lies in France

now."

Helene was astonished at her own eloquent

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HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST 401

boldness. Angelot watched her. smihng. en-
chanted. Monsieur Joseph hstened very gravely,
his eyes upon her troubled face. When she
paused, he bent and kissed her hand.

" I do not understand the mystery," he said.
" I only see that my nephew is the most fortunate
man in France. But T repeat, that he may hear
me — honour comes before happiness. Co round
to the salon, my friends. I will bring a light and
open the door."

" Is it really myself — or am I dreaming? —
yes, it must be all a dream! " Helene murmured,
as she sat alone in Monsieur Jose])h's salon, be-
side a flaming wood fire that he had lighted with
his own hands.

His first shock once over, the little uncle
treated his nephew's wife like a princess. He
made her sit in his largest chair, he put a cushion
behind her, a footstool under her feet. With
gentle hands he lifted the cloak that had slipped
from her slight shoulders, advising her to keep
it on till the room had grown warm, for she was
shivering, though hardly conscious of it. He
went himself to fetch wine and cakes, set them on
a table beside her, tried unsuccessfully to make
her eat and drink. Then he glanced at his watch
and turned in his quick way to Angelot, who had
been looking on at these attentions with a smile,
almost jealous of the little uncle, yet happy that
he should thus accept the new situation and take
Helene to his affectionate heart.

'J'

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■w'VTwams'W'" > vt, mam: *•.

iH'

402

ANGELOT

"Come with me. Angelot," said Monsieur
Joseph. " Excuse us for a few minutes, my dear
niece," — he bowed to Helene. " Affairs of
state" — he smiled, dancing on tiptoe with his
most birdhke air.

But as Angelot followed him out of the room,
his look became as stern and secret as that of any
fierce Chouan among them all.

Helene waited; the time seemed long; and
her situation almost too strange to be realised.
Those small hours of the morning, dark and
weird, brought their own special chill and shiver,
both physical and spiritual; the thought be-
gan to trouble her that Angelot's father and
mother wotdd be very angry, perhaps — would
not receive them, possibly — and that Uncle
Joseph, in his lonely house, might be their only
refuge ; the thought of her own mother's indigna-
tion became a thought of terror, now that Ange-
lot's dear presence was not there to send it away;
all these ghosts crowded alarmingly upon her soli-
tude, almost driving before them the one great
certainty and wonder of the night. She looked
round the shadowy, firelit room ; she noticed with
curious attention the quaint coverings of the fur-
niture, the bright-coloured churches, windmills,
farms, peasants at their work, all on a clear white
ground, the ancient perse that had been bought
and arranged by Angelot's grandmother. She
thought it much prettier than anything at Lan-
cilly. It distracted her a little, as the minutes

HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST 403

went on ; but surely these affairs took a long time
to settle; and the wind rose higher, and howled
in the chimney and whistled in the shutters, and
she saw herself, white and solitary, in a great
glass at the end of the room.

When Angelot at last opened the door, she
sprang from the chair and ran to meet him ; the
only safe place was in his arms.

"Don't leave me again," she whispered, as
soon as it was possible to speak.

Angelot was very pale, his eyes were burning.
With broken words and passionate kisses he put
her back into the chair, and kneeling down be-
side her, struggled for calmness to explain.

He was in honour bound to go ; he must ride
away ; the horse was already saddled, and he had
only a few minutes in which to say good-bye. He
must leave her in Uncle Joseph's care till he came
back. Uncle Joseph said it was his duty to go.
That very morning he was to have started for
England; his companion would be waiting for
him and running a thousand risks ; he must meet
him at the appointed place and send him on his
way alone. He did not tell her that Uncle Joseph,
after all his chivalrous kindness to her, had cor-
dially wished women, love affairs, and marriages
at the devil, even when perfectly well aware that
it was not only Helene, with her soft hands, who
was holding his nephew back and keepmg him in
Anjou.

" You know my father went to Paris, sweet? "

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404

ANGELOT

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■^1 .1

said Angelot. " He has come back — he has been
here this very night, looking for me. He woukl
have found me at home, if you had not called me
across the fields to see you dancing, you know!
He saw all the authorities, even the Emperor him-
self. Nobody knew anything about that arrest of
mine, and I think a certain Simon may get into
hot water for it — though that is too much to
expect, perhaps. Anyhow, they say it was a

mistake."

" Monsieur des Barres told me so. He said he

was sure of it," said the giri.

" Helene — how beautiful you are!"

She had laid her hand on his head, and was

looking down at him. smiling, though her eyes

were wet. He took her hand and held it against

his lips.

" How I adore you ! " he whispered.

" Then you are free — free to be happy," she

said.

" As far as I know — unless that clever father
of mine has asked the Emperor for a commission
for me — but I think, for my mother's sake, he
would not do that. He has not told Uncle Joseph
so, at any rate ; the dear uncle would not have re-
ceived an officer of Napoleon's so nicely."

Helene shuddered; the very word "officer"
brought Ratoneau to her mind. But she felt saft
at least, safe for ever now. from him.

" I hate soldiers," she said. " Must every one
fight and kill?"

wti'lii

mmmm

HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST 405

Her bridegroom was siill kneeling at her feet
when Monsieur Joseph came back, brinij^ing Hen-
riette with him. The child's dark eyes were full
of sleep, her cropped hair stood o'l end. her small
figure was wrapped in her littip llatniel gown;
she looked a strange and pathetic creature, roused
out of sleep, brought down to take her part in
these realities. But she was equal to the occasion.
Riette never failed in the duties of love ; she was
never called upon in vain. She went round to the
back of Helene's chair, took her face in her two
small hands, leaned forward and kissed her fore-
head under the curls.

"Go, mon petit!" she said to Angelot. "1
will keep her safe till you are back in the morn-
mg.

She spoke slowly, sleepily.

" Riette is always my friend." said Angelot.

"I told you long ago." said tl child, "that
papa and I would help you to the last drop of our
blood."

" Ah ! we have not reached that point yet."
said Monsieur Joseph, laughing softly. " Now,
my children, say good-bye. After all — for a few
hours — it is not a tragedy."

The Lancilly ball was the most brilliant, the
most beautiful, for many hours the most success-
ful, that had taken place in that country-side since
before the Revolution, Manv people arriving
late, the crowd of guests went on increasing, and

I I

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4o6

ANGELOT

ii,.',- i

they danced with so much energy, the music was
so beautiful, the whole affair went with such a
swing, strangely mixed as the company was from
a political point of view, that Madame de Sainfoy
in the midst of her duties as hostess had no time
to give more than an occasional thought to her
own family. She watched Georges and his pro-
ceedings with satisfaction, but after missing
Helenp id sending Mademoiselle Moineau to
look for her. she forgot her again; and she did
not miss her husband till he failed to be in his
place at supper-time, to lead the oldest lady
into the dining-room. Wii • . time went on. and
he did not appear, she ...gan to be puzzled
and anxious, while exerting herself to the full,
in order that no one should be aware of his ab-
sence.

She was passing through the inner salon, alone
for the moment, on her way to find a servant that
she might send in search of Monsieur de Sainfoy.
when General Ratoneau. having made nis bow to
the lady he had brought back from supper, and
who was heartily glad to be rid of him, came to
meet her with a swaggering air, partly owing to
champagne.

Smiling, he told her with an oath that her
daughter was confoundedly pretty, the prettiest
girl in Anjou, and the wildest and most unman-
ageable ; that she would not listen to a word of
compliment, and had run away from him when
he told her, in plain soldier fashion — "as I

^•>.iiL^tH:.-fk!!«^^-tirLr.

HOW AXGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST 407

always speak, matlame " — that she was to he his
wife.

" Ah, Monsieur le General — you are so cer-
tain of that?" murmured Adelaide, considering
him with her blue eyes a little coldly.

"Certain, madame? I suppose it will not oc-
cur to you or to Monsieur de Sainfoy to disobey
the Emperor! Why, the order might have ar-
rived to-day — it certainly will to-morrow — ah,
I mean yesterday or to-day, for midnight is long
passed. Yes, but she is a detestable mixture, that
daughter of yours, Madame la Comtesse. and it
would take all my courage to venture on such a
v'ife, without your encouragement. Cold as ice,
as stately as an old queen of France — upon my
soul, it needs a brave man to face the possibilities
of such a menage. But I suppose she is timid
with it all — ^'- ^ I must be firm with her, I must
show resoluuo.., .i'est-ce pas? "

" Apparently your compliments frightened her.
Yes, fhe is timid enough," said Madame de Sain-
foy. " She not only ran away from you, but
from the ball. I understand her now. She is a
mere child. Monsieur le General, unaccustomed
to — to — " Adelaide broke off, a little ab-
sently. " I sent a person to find her. I will send
again, but — if you will forgive me — " with a
dazzling smile — "I would advise you not to
say much more to Helene till the affair is really
decided beyond all question — yes, what is
it?"

40«

ANGELOT

It' if*"

A servant came up t<> her. hesitatitijj:. plancinj;
at the (leiuTal. who >ai(l «|uii-kl\. his fate darketi-
\\\g, " I rnti>i(ler it ilecided now."

"So ,io I — so it is. of course," she said
quickly. " Well? " to the servant.

" Monsieur <le la Mariniere asks if he can see
Madame la Conitesse for five minutes."

" Ask him to wait — " she was hcginning.
coldly, when Monsieur L'rbain came hurrying im-
patiently across tlie room.

" \ii _ my very good friend. Monsieur de la
Mariniere." Ratoneau said with a grin.

lie did not move away. Urbain came up and
kissed Adelaide's hand and looked at her with
an extraordinary expression. He was plainly
dressed for travelling, a strange-looking guest in
those rooms. His square face was drawn into
hard lines, his mouth was set. his eyes were star-
ing. She gazed at him, fascinated, and her lips
formed the words. " What is it. l'rbain? " Then
she suddenly said, turning white. " Something has
happened to Herve ! "

" To Herve? I don't know. Yes, he seems to
have gone mad." said Urbain. " You know noth-
ing of it? I thought as much — but I have conic
straight to you. Where is Herve? He is liere
now, surely? I must speak to him."

" What are you talking about ? Are you sure
it is not you who have gone mad? As to Herve,
I have not seen him for the last hour. I was
looking for him."

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HOW AXGKLOT KKPT HIS TUVST 4cx;

" He looked clevilisji <|ut'cr wlien T -^aw liim

last." muttered the (k'ucral. " Madcinoiscllc ran

after him; they arc a pretty pair."

Urhaiti and Adelaide hotii looked at him

vaguely: then ajjaiii at each otlier.

"Where i> he now? Do you know

•?•• she

said.

*' He left the chateau, madamc. with your
daughter and her hushand." I'rhain said, slowly
and indistinctly, grinding his teeth as he spoke.

" I'rhain ! " she cried.

"What are you saying, inon>ietir"" growled
the General, with his hand on his sword.

" Peace, peace. Monsieur le r,0nt'ral. von -.vill
know all jiresently." I'rhain said more calmly.
" Some one has betrayed our plans," he went on.
looking at Adelaide, who was white and speech-
less, " These are my adventures. I went to
Paris in search of my son. to find out where he
was, and why he had been arrested. I could hear
nothing of him. I saw the Prefet de la Police, I
saw the Due de Rovigo, T saw F^t-al and a dozen
more officials. Xo one knew anything. Finally
I saw Duroc. an old acquaintance, and he intro-
duced me .o the Empen^r. His Majesty was
gracious. He gave me a free pardon for Angelot,
in case he had been mixed up against his will with
any Chouan conspiracies. I pledged my honour
for him in the future. Rut still the mystery re-
mained — T could not find him."

Adelaide seemed turned to stone. These two

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410 ANGELOT

tazed at each other, speechless, and did not now
give a look or a thought to the third person pres-
ent He stood transfixed, listening; the ang^y
blood rushed into his face, then ebbed as suddenly,
leaving him a livid, deathlike yellow.

- But mon Dieu, why all this story? " Adelaide
burst out with almost a scream. " What is he to
me, your silly Angelot? What did you say just
now? My daughter and — I must have hea/d

you wrongly." ^^

Urbain gave a short, crackling laugh. N ever-
theless, I shall go on with my story. I came home
a few hours ago. My wife told me that Angelot
was safe with his uncle at Les Chouettes." The
General started violently, but neither of them
noticed him. "We went there together, and
found that the boy was gone to La Manniere. to
see his mother - Joseph had planned to pack hini
off out of the way of the police — with his usual
discretion — but enough of that."

"Urbain, you will madden me! What do 1
care for all this?"

Adelaide maie a few steps and let herself fall

into a chair. .

" Patience ! " he said ; and there was something
solemn, almost awful, in the way he stretched out
his right hand to her. " We hastened back to La
Mariniere, and found no Angelot there. Ihen
I began to think that Joseph's fears of the police
might not be exaggerated - Angelot escaped
from them on the very day he was arrested - the

..-Y. ■•«!?*.

HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST 411

man who arrested him, why, I cannot (Hscover,
was that fellow Simon, the spy, and according to
Joseph he has been watching the woods ever
since. I went out, for I could not rest indoors,
and as I walked down the road I met Monsieur le
Cure and Martin Joubard, coming from Lancilly.
I turned back with the old man, and he told me
his story."

He stopped and drew a long breath.

"I hardly listened to the details," he said.
" But by some means Herve had heard of the ex-
pected order — and — distrusting all the world,
it seems, even you, his wife, he sent for the Cure
at midnight and forced him to celebrate the mar-
riage. Ah, Monsieur le General, you may well
take it hardly ; yet I do not believe you are more
angry than I am."

" As to that, monsieur," said Ratoneau, glaring
at him with savage fury, " I believe you have
played me false and arranged the whole affair.
Your scamp of a son has escaped the prison he
richly deserved, and you have plotted to marry
him to your cousin's daughter. I always thought
you as clever as the devil, monsieur. But look
here — and you too, madame, listen to me. I
will ruin the whole set of you — and as to that
boy of yours, let him beware how he meets me.
I swear I will be his death."

Urbain shrugged his shoulders and turned from
him to Adelaide, who was beckoning feebly and
could hardly find voice to speak.

■(. ■!

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412 ANGELOT

" I am very stupid, 1 suppose." she said " T
cannot understand clearly. My husband has
forced on Helene's marriage w'th s..me one^
Who is it. Urbain? Did the Cure tell you? Do
not be afraid to tell me - 1 can bear it -you
were always my friend."

There was something so unnatural m her nian-
ner. so terrible and stony in her look, that Urban,
turned pale and hesitated.

"Mon Dieu!" he murmured. "You do not

understand!" „ ,

- Mille tonnerres. Madame la Comtesse, roared
the General, striding up to her chair- they
have married this man's son to your daughter
My congratulations on the splendid match. Ange
de la Mariniere and Helene de Sainfoy - a pretty
couple -but by all that's sacred their happiness
shall not last long!"

"Hush, hush! Go away, for Gods sake.^
cried Urbain. " You brute, you are killing her.

Adelaide's eyelids had dropped, and she lay
back unconscious.

There were people in the room, a confusion
of voices, of wondering exclamations. Then^^
through the thickening crowd, Herve de Sain oy
and rfeorges pushed their way, white and excited-
followed by Mademoiselle Moineau, whose trem-
bling limbs could hardly carry her.

The Comte de Sainfoy and General Ratoneau
met face to face, and exchanged a few low words
as Ratoneau walked out.

HOW ANGELOT KEPT ?ITS TRYST 413

" You are a pretty host. Monsieur le Comte! "

" I have tauji^hi you a lesson, I hope. Monsieur
le General. I shall have no more interference
with my family affairs."

" Sapristi ! it is a new tiling for you. is
it not, to pose as the head of your own fam-
ily? How (lid Tlis Majesty's intention come
to your knowledge? I am curious to know
that."

" Let irie ask you to leave my house. You
shall hear from me. We will settle our affairs
another day."

"Ah! You had better consult Madame la
Comtesse. She is not pleased with you."

Ratoneau went out, snarling. Scarcely know-
'"ng which way he turned, he found himself in an
outer vestibule at the foot of the great siaircase.
The autumn wind was blowing in. fresh and cool
across the valley; grey light was beginning to
glimmer, a shiver of dawn to pass over the world
outside. A group of men were standing in the
doorway, and Ratoneau found himself surrounded
by them. One of them was Simon, with his head
bound up; the others were some of the police em-
ployed to watch Chouan proceedings in the prov-
ince generally.

" What, fool ! " the General began furiously
to Simon. " And all this time you — " he
checked himself, remembering the presence of
the others, who were looking at him curi-
ously.

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414 ANGELOT

" We have something to report to Monsieur le
General," Simon said hurriedly, with an eager
sign of caution. " To save time - as Monsieur
1^ Prefet is not here. A new conspiracy has been
hatched at Les Chouettes - Les Chouettcs mon-
sieur ! Some of the gentlemen are probably there
now. Some are to meet at the fetang des Morts,
^o start for England this very mornmg. They
will be caught easily. But Les Chouettes should
be searched, monsieur - important arrests can

be made there."

He came ;. rward, almost pushmg the General

back again ;t the stairs. ^

- There are enough of us," he said, but not

enough authority. If Monsieur le General would

go himself " — he came up closer and muttered in

Ratoneau's ear-" I know all -they are there

_- we can at least arrest the men - safe this time

— the police have real evidence, and I have seen

nightly visitors to Monsieur de la Manniere.

But they are there, monsieur -I saw them on

their way - 1 met the priest going back. And

on my word, Monsieur le Comte managed it

neatly." j r „i?

" Did he give you that broken head,^ tool .

And why did you not come to me sooner ? "
" That was a gentleman with a wooden leg.

Yes he delayed me half an hour."

"More fool you! Come, we must have these

Chouans. Say nothing. Get me a horse -one

that will carry double, mind you. Four of you

lit^s'i' .y.!" .1^ I >l

HOW ANGELOT KEPT HTS TRYST 415

fellows go on and watch the house. I and Simon
will overtake you."

He swore between his teeth as he turned away,
" I will be the death of him, and I will have her
yet!"

'•_<■•*« it» »

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CHAPTER XXVII

HOW MONSIEUR JOSEPH WENT OUT INTO
THE DAWN

At Les Chouettes, in those early hours of the
morning, they were waiting for Angelot's return.
Monsieur Joseph, the softest-hearted, most open-
natured man who ever posed as a dark and hard
conspirator, could not now forgive himself for
having sent the boy away. " Why did I not go
myself ? " he muttered. Faithfulness to the cause,
honour towards Cesar d'Ombre, a touch of se-
verity, really born of love, towards Angelot's
light-hearted indifference ; these had led him into
something like cruelty towards the girl who had
been thrown with such wild and passionate haste
into Angelot's arms. Monsieur Joseph regarded
Herve de Sainfoy's sudden action as a great em-
barrassment for the family, though he himself
had once suggested such a marriage, out of in-
dulgence for his nephew. He saw that the situa-
tion would be terribly awkward for Urbain and
Anne, that they would hardly welcome such a
daughter-in-law ; yet. though he said sharp words
about women to Angelot. he was heartily sorry

for Helene.

416

OUT INTO Tin- DAWN

41;

Paiivre petite! " he said U^ himself. " \

as not rijrht of licrve. Anqc is u

)o youiij^j tor

o. It
f.

such respoiisihility: tliere nii^ht have been otlier
ways of savin-;- her. iUit in the meanwhile, she is
dreadfully frightened and lonely, and I have sent
her little lover away. God j^rant he fall into
no traps — hut the police may he anywhere.
Well, Riette must do her best — the woman-child
— she seemed to me just now older than Ange-
lot's wife — Angelot's wife — what an ab-
surdity ! "

The child had led the girl away to her own
room alxive; the house was still. Monsieur
Joseph went back to his room, walked up and
down its length, from the west to the east win-
dow and back again ; ratlier nervously examined
his arms, and laid a sword and a pair of pistols
on the table. He knew of no special danger;
but for the last fortnight he had been living in a
state of watchfulness which had sharpened all his
senses and kept him unusually sleepless. Nov he
longed for the night to be over; for his present
charge weighed upon him heavily. It was certain
that in sending Angelot away to keep the trvst
with Cesar he had made himself responsible for
Ilelene. He thought over all the foolish little
love-story, in which at first lie had had some part,
though nobody was more angry with Angelot
when he took thinf^s into his own hands and
climbed the old ivy-trcc to visit his love.

" And now — is the fellow rewarded or

pun-

■I

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sfiTI^U.

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', ■ * ■

MUlfl- i^

II 't

418

ANGELOT

ished? we shall see! " he thought. " In any case,
I must stand by him now. He has not always
been grateful or wise -but there, he is young,
and I love the boy. Riette talks of ' the last drop
of our blood.' Verily, I believe she would give
it for Angelot - and I - well. I told Herve and
his mother that I would cut u., my right hand for
him. That was saying something! But Anne
knew I meant it — and G.d knows the same.

Monsieur Joseph glanced up at the Crucifix
hanging over his bed, and, presently, seeing a
glimmer of dawn through the shutters, knelt
down and said his morning prayers.

He had scarcely finished when all the dogs be-
gan to bark, and there was a frightful growling
and snarling outside his window. He opened
it and pushed back the shutters. The woods were
CTey and misty in a pale, unearthly dawn, and the
house threw a shadow from the waning moon,
which had risen behind the buildings and trees
to the east. The howling wind of the mght had
gone down; the air was cold and still.

Monsieur Joseph saw a man with his head tied
up, armed with a police carbine, making a short
cut over the grass from the western wood. It
was this man, Simon, whom the dogs were wel-
coming after their manner. Monsieur Josephs
voice silenced them. He stepped out, unarmed
as he was, and met Simon in the sandy square.
"Ah no, no, my friend!" he said. Your
tricks are over, your work is done."

ill.

''-"am

OUT INFO THE DAWN

419

" Pardon, monsieur! " said Simon, respectfully
enough.

" Do you understand me ? Come, now, what
authority had you for arresting my nephew?
You are going to find it was a serious mistake.
Be off with you, and let him alone in the future."

" I know all ahout that, monsieur," Simon an-
swered coolly. " Your nepliew is lucky enough
to have a loyal father, who can pull him out of
his scrapes. Your nephew has plenty of friends
— but even his connections won't save him,
I think, if he is mixed up in this new plot of
yours. I must search your house at once, if you
please."

" What do you mean, you scoundrel ? You will
not search my house," said Monsieur Joseph,
fiercely.

" By order, monsieur."

" Whose order ? The Prefect's ? Show it me."
" Pardon ! There has not been time to apply
to Monsieur le Prefet. We have intelligence of
a plot, hatched here in your house, a plan for a
rising. We know that certain gentlemen are
starting this very morning on a mission, to
England, to bring back arms and men. They
will be caught — are caught already, no doubt —
at their rendezvous. There was not time to go
to Sonnay for orders and warrants; we had to
strike while the iron was hot. We applied to
General Ratoneau, who was at the ball at Lan-
cilly. He not only gave us authority to search

f f

iHli

420

ANGELOT

your house for arms and conspirators — he ac-
companied us himself. He is there, beyond the
wood, with enough men to enter y.air house by
force, if you refuse to let us enter peaceably."

For a moment Monsieur Joseph said nothing.
Simon grinned as well as his stiff and aching head
would let him. as he watched the little gentleman's

expressive face.

"We have got them. Monsieur le General!"
he said to himself. He added aloud and inso-
lently : " An unpleasant experience for the
young gentleman, so soon after his wedding, but
a final warning. I imagine. H he comes free and
happy out of this, he will have done with Chouan-

nerie! "

"Silence!" said Monsieur Joseph. "If you
want conspirators, there is one here, and diat is
myself. I will go to Sonnay with you — though
your accusations are ridiculous, and there is no
plan for a rising. But I will not allc w you to
search my house, if there were ten generals and
an army' behind the wood there. I will shoot
down any one who attempts it."

" So much the worse for you, mon' ;eur," said

Simon.

" Go back to General R; mean and tell him
what I say," said Monsieur Joseph. " He will
not doubt my word. Wait. I will speak to him
myself. Tell him I will meet him in ten min-
utes under the old oaks tip there. I wish for a
private word with him."

•r --Iff ' T? ^^»ii

OUT INTO THE DAWN

421

" Ten minutes, monsieur," — Simon hesitated.
" Do as ytm are told," ;.aid Monsieur Joseph;
and he stejjped back into his room, pulled the
shutters sharply to, and shut the window.

Simon lingered a minute or two, looking round
the house, giving the growling dogs a wide
berth, then went back with his message to the
wood, and took the precaution of sending a man
to watch the lanes on the other side. He did not,
of course, for a moment suppose that there was
any one there, except, most probably, Ange de
la Mariniere and his bride; but it would not do
to let him once again escape the General. What
his plans might be, Simon only half guessed; but
lie knew they were desperate, and he knew that
the man who balked him would repent it. And
besides all this, he had not yet received a sou for
all the dirty work he had lately done. But in the
bitter depths of his discontented mind, Simon
began to suspect that he had made a mistake in
committing himself, body and soul, to General
Ratoneau.

Monsieur Joseph took a small pistol from a
cabinet, loaded it. then ran lightly upstairs and
called Riette. who came flying to meet him. He
took her in his arms and kissed her shaggy pate.

" Your hair wants brusliing. mademoiselle,"
he said. " You are a contrast to your beautiful
cousin."

" Oh. papa, isn't it glorious to think that Helena
has married Angelot? They do love each other

f.^

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422

ANGELOl

Will

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II
il

only he were
-., she would
rUl."

id Monsieur

"oke, 'or if

' ■?«5ar :- '. 'it

so. She has been telling me t'"'
l>ack safe from the ttanj> de : '
be the very happiest woman i 'lit.

" 1 hope she will be, and . >vr .'
Joseph. But he trembled r. < b •
Simon was right, Angehi rmd
be even now in the hands < •! ■ ■>.'■•

" Listen, Kictte," he said. " i'. - .n -me
men outside, police and otificiaK — G* : i .aton-
eau is with them. Once aga n there arc fancies
in these people's heads about me and my friends.
They want to search the house. There is no
reason for it, and I will not have it done. I am
going out now to speak to the General. Look at
the clock. If I am not back in ten minutes, go
out at the back with your cousin, take the path
behind the stables, and make all the haste you can
to La Mariniere. It will be light, you cannot lose
your way. Only keep in the slielter of the trees,
that those people over in the wood m?.y not see
you."

Riette gazed at him with dark large eyes
which seemed to read something behind his
words.

" Why do you think you will not come back,
papa? Because General Ratoneau is a wicked
.......

" Because Imperial justice may carry me to
Sonnay. But the Prefect is my friend," said
Monsieur Joseph, gravely. " Go back, and do as
I tell you. Remember, Angelot's wife is in your

liii6e''i

ynii

OUT INTO THE DAWN

4^3

care. Take this pistol, and defend her if neces-
sary.

He left her without another word and ran
downstair-. In the ground-tloor room^ lie fuuiid
the servants waiting, the two men armed, Marie
wildly excited, all talking at once, fur they had
heard from an ui)i>er winduw their master's con-
versation \\ith Simon.

Before he could give them any orders, two tall
shadows came across the white sand in that im-
earthly light of moon and lawn, and old Joubard
and his son, pushing at the window, were imme-
diately let in by Gigot. They explained that Mon-
sieur Angelot, on his way to the fetang des Morts,
had stopped at La Joubardiere. He had found
Martin, not long returned from Lancilly. busy
telling his father the events of the night. He
had begged them both to go down to Les
Chouettes, to watch quietly about there till his
return. They understood very well that his
greatest treasure in life was there, and they had
started oflF, Joubard with his gim, not intending
to go to the house or disturb Monsieur Joseph.
But coming down they found the man Simon had
just sent to keep .he eastern road, who told them
the place was besieged by police and the house to
be searched immediately. They took the liberty
of depriving him of his carbine, tying him to a
tree, and setting a dog to watch him there. Old
Joubard explained this to Monsieur Joseph with
an air of apology.

I'
I

•T^^FF,

^^Ifir

424

ANGELOT

" Thank you. You could not have clone better.
Joubard. Listen, I am going out to speak to
General Katoneau. 1 have told Mademoiselle
Henriette, if I am not back in ten minutes,
to take Madame Ange to La Mariniere. If the
General insists on my going ofT to Sonnay, this
will not be a place for ladies. Perhaps, Marie,
vou had better go with them. The police will
try to insist on searching the house. I will not
have it searched, without a warrant from Mon-
sieur le Prefet. ' You four men, I leave it in your
care. Defend the house, as you know I should

defend it."

Tobie chuckled. "Spoil their beauty, eh!"
and went on loading his gun. Old Joubard's face
had lengthened slightly. " Anything within the
law," he muttered. " But I am not a Chouan.
dear little monsieur, nor is Martin — no! "

"Chouan or not, you are my friends, all of
you," said Monsieur Joseph; and he turned and

left them.

He went back to his room, wrote a short letter
to his brother Urbair, and left it on the table.
Then he took his sword, crossed himself, and went
out into the slowly lightening day.

Ratoneau was waiting for him under the trees,
just out of sight of the house, and they were
practically alone. A groom held the General's
horse at some little distance; Simon waited n\
the background, skulking behind the trees, and
the other men were watching the house from

OUT INTO THE DAWN

425

various points. The road wliicli passed Les
Chouettes on the north crept on westward, and
skirted that same wood of tall ■ iks, chestnuts,
and firs where Monsieur Joseph's Chouan friends
had been hidden from the Prefect and the Gen-
eral. The wood, with little undergrowth, but
thickly carpeted with dead leaves, sloped down
to the south; on its highest edge a line of old
oaks, hollow and enormous, stood like grim sen-
tinels. It was under one of these, hidden from
the house by a corner of the wood, that Monsieur
Joseph met the General.

Ratoneau was considerably cooler than when
he had left Lancilly. His manner was less violent,
but even more insolent tlian usual. He 1' 'ked at
his watch as Monsieur Joseph came up, walking
over the rough grass with the light step of a
boy.

" What do you mean, monsieur, by keeping
an Imperial officer waiting?" he said. "Ten
minutes ? I have been standing here twenty, and
you had no right to ask for one. You forget
who you are, monsieur, and who I am."

" Kindly enlighten me on these points Mon-
sieur le General," said Monsieur Joseph, smil
ing cheerfully.

" I will enlighten you so far — that you are
twice a traitor, and the worst of a whole band of
traitors."

" Et puis, monsieur? Once — it is i)ossible
from your point of view, but how twice?" said

426

ANGELOT

1 o

!■

III!

Monsieur Joseph, with that air of happy curi-
osity which had often, in earUer years, misled his
enemies to their undoing.

Ratoneau stared at him, muttered an oath, and
stammered out : " Not content with plotting
against His Majesty's government — why you
— you, monsieur — are aiding and abetting that
nephew of yours in this scandalous afifair of his
marriage. Sapristi! you look as innocent as a
.icw-born child ! You laugh, monsieur ! Do you
suppose the Emperor will not learn the truth about
this marriage? Yes, I can tell you, you will bit-
terly repent this night's work — Monsieur de
Sainfoy and all of you. And to begin with, that
accursed nephew of yours will spend his honey-
moon in prison. I have not yet seen my way
through the ins and outs of the affair — I do not
know how Monsieur de Sainfoy heard of the
Emperor's intention — but at least I can have
my revenge on your nephew and I will — I will ! "

" Ah ! " Monsieur Joseph laughed slightly.
" I would not be too sure, monsieur. You can
prove nothing against Ange. His father, let me
tell you, has set him right with the Emperor. He
is in no danger at all, unless from your personal
malice. The prize you intended to have has been
given to him. It is no doing of his family. I do
not believe the Emperor will punish him or them.
And — unless he values your services more
highly than I should think probable, I fancy he
will see excuses for Monsieur de Sainfoy ! "

OUT INTO THE DAWN

427

" No doing of his family ! The intrigue has
been going on for weeks," cried Ratoneau.
" When have I not seen that odious boy pushing
himself at Lancilly? Detestable little hound ! as
insolent as yourself, and far more of a fool. I
have always hated him — always — since the day
I first saw him in your house, the day when we
met a herd of cattle in the lane, and he dared to
laugh at my horse's misbehaviour. Little scum of
the earth ! if I had him under my heel — What
are we losing time for? What do you want to
say to me? It is my duty to arrest you, and to
search your house for conspirators and arms, in
the name of the Emperor."

" Yes; I know all that," said Monsieur Joseph,
gently, with his head a little on one side.

He was wondering, as he wondered on first
acquaintance with this man, for how long he would
be able to refrain from striking him in the face.
He was afraid that it would not, at this junc-
ture, be a wise thing to do. The two girls in the
house were much on his mind ; perhaps a presenti-
ment of something of this sort had made him ar-
range for their escape.

" I told that police fellow," he went on very
mildly, " that I was ready to go with you to Son-
nay, where the Prefect, of course, is the right per-
son to deal v'th any suspected conspiracy. I also
told him, and I tell you, that I will not have
my house searched without the Prefect's war-
rant."

^
i

428

ANGELOT

«H

" And pray, how are you goinp: to prevent it? "
said Ratoneau, staring at him.

"Try it, and you will see," said Monsieur

Joseph.

'* Your nephew is shut up there. I know. He
is taking care of his hride, and is afraid to come
out and face me." said Ratoneau. with a frightful
grin. " He will not dare to resist by force —
miserable little coward ! "

" All this shall be paid for by and by," Mon-
sieur Joseph said to himself, consolingly. Aloud
he said, " It happens that my nephew is not there.
Monsieur le General."

"Not there! where are they gone then? I

believe that is a lie."

Monsieur Joseph bowed politely, with his hand

on his sword.

'' Allow me to remark. Monsieur le General
Ratoneau, that you are a cheat and a coward."

Ratoneau turned purple, and almost choked.

" Monsieur ! You dare to use such words to
me! I shall call my men up, and — "

" Call the whole of the usurper's army," said
Monsieur Joseph, with unearthly coolness. " As
they follow him they may follow you, his paste-
board image. But I am quite of your opinion, my
words need explanation. I see through you. Mon-
sieur le General. You tried to cheat the Comte de
Sainfoy out of his daughter, whom he had refused
you. And I am sure now, ^hat my nephew's
arrest the other day was a scoundrelly piece of

OUT INTO THE DAWN

429

cheating, a satisfaction of your private spite, a
means of getting him out of your way. Yes, I see
through you now. A fine specimen of an Imperial
officer, bribing police spies to carry out his private
malice. Coward and cheat ! Defend yourself ! "

Both swords were out, and the fight began in-
stantly. The steel clashed and darted lightly,
flashing back the rising day. It was no ordinary
duel, no mere satisfaction of honour, though each
might have had the right to demand this of the
other. It was a quarrel of life and death, per-
sonal hatred that must slay or be slain.

Monsieur Joseph, with all his grace and amia-
bility, had the passionate nature of old France;
his instincts were primitive and simple; he
longed, and his longing had become irresistible,
to send a villain out of the world. Perhaps,
too, in Ratoneau's overbearing swagger, he saw
and felt an incarnation of that Empire which had
crushed his native country under its iron feet.
But all mixed motives were fused together and
flamed up in the fighting rage that drew that
slight hand to the sword-hilt, and darted like
lightning along the living blade.

Monsieur Joseph was a splendid swordsman.
But Ratoneau. too, had perfect command of his
weapon; and besides this, he was a taller and
heavier man. And the fury of disappointment,
of revenge, the dread of being found out, of prob-
able disgrace, if Joseph de la Mariniere could
prove his keen suspicions true; all this added to

«K^W

430 ANGELOT

his caution, while he never lacked the bull-dog
courage of a fighting soldier. Though foaming
with rage, he was at that moment the cooler, the
more self-possessed of the two.

Simon tried at first to interfere. He stepped
out from among the trees, exclaimmg. Mes-
sieurs—messieurs ! " but then withdrew again,
for the very sight of the two men's faces the
sound of their breath, the quick clash of the
swords, showed that this was a quarrel past mend-
ing Simon watched. He was conscious, m the
lepths of his minci, of a knowledge that he wou d
'fcot mourn very deeply if General Ratoneau should
be the one to fall. He hastily made his own plans.
In that case he would slip away behind the trees,
take the horse from the groom without a word,
and ride away to Paris, trusting that he might
never be called to account for any dark doings
in Anjou. For there was not only the false
arrest of Angelot; there were also certain deal-
ings with the Prefect's secretary ; there were tam-
perings with papers and seals, all to set forward
that marriage affair that had failed so dismally,
he hardly understood how. But he had hoped that
the Prefect would die, and the news of his rapid
recovery seemed strangely inopportune. It ap-
peared to Simon that General Ratoneau's star
was on the wane; and so, for those entangled m
his rascally deeds, a lucky thrust of Monsieur de
la Mariniere's swiftly flashing sword — Ah, no.
the fortune of war was on the wrong side that

OUT INTO THE DAWN

431

morning. A few passes; a fight three or four
minutes long; a low cry, then silence, and the
slipping down of a light body on the grass. Gen-
eral Ratoneau had run his adversary through the
heart, had withdrawn his sword and stood, white
but unmoved, looking at him as he lay.

Monsieur Joseph turned himself once, and
stretched his slight limbs, as if composing him-
self to sleep. His face was towards his house
and the rising dawn, and he gazed that way with
dark eyes wide open. His lips moved, but no
one heard what he said. All the fighting fur -.
was gone from his face, and as a thin thread of
!:''>od trickkd down from his side and began to
redden the grass beneath, his look, at first
startled and painful, became every moment more
peaceful, more satisfied. His eyelids slowly
drooped and fell ; he died smiling, his whole
attitude and expression so lifelike that the two
witnesses, Ratoneau and Simon, could scarcely
believe that he was dead.

The General stood immovable. Simon, after
a minute, knelt down and felt the pulse and ex-
amined the wound. It had been almost instantly
fatal, the pulse was still.

" Mon Dieu, Monsieur le General, you have
killed him!" Simon said, under his breath.

Ratoneau glared r.t him for a moment before
he spoke.

" He tried to kill me," he said. " You were
there, you can bear witness, he challenged and at-

\ J

; Ji

432 ANGELOT

tacked me, the little fighting-cock. I wish it had
been his nephew. But now for him ! Come, leave
the body there; the servants will fetch it m pres-

ently."

He started to walk towards the house, carry-
ing his drawn sword in his hand. In the middle
of the slope he turned round with a furious look
to his follower. ,

" Those who insult me, and stand in my way
-you see the lessons I teach them!" he said
hoarsely, and walked on.

The western front of Les Chouettes, the tower
rising into the slowly lightening sky, presented
a lifeless face to the w.x)ds where its master lay
AH the windows were dosed and shuttered; dead
silence reigned. When the General shouted an
order to open, beating with his sword-hilt at a
window, he was only answered by the growling
and barking of the dogs, whom the defenders had
called in. He walked round by the south to the
east front; the same chorus accompanied him,
but of human voices there were none. He whis-
tled up the rest of the gendarmes, and ordered
them to force the dining-room window. Then
the shutters of a window above it were pushed
open, and a white-haired man looked out into the

*^°" Now, old Chouan, do y u hear me? " shouted
Ratoneau, in his most overbearing tones.^^ " Come
down and open some of these windows."

"Pardon, monsieur," old Joubard answered

OUT INTO THE DAWN

433

quietly. " I have Monsieur de la Mariniere's
orders to keep them shut."

" Have you, indeed ? Well, it makes no differ-
ence to him whether they are shut or open. Tell
his nephew, Monsieur Ange, with my compli-
ments, to come down and speak to me. Tell him
I want to see his pretty wile, and to congratulate
him on his marriage. Tell him to bring a sword,
if he knows how to use one, and to revenge his
uncle."

There was a dead pause. The two Joubards
and the servants, all together in that upper room,
looked strangely at each other.

" Tiens, Maitre Joubard, let me come to the
window and I'll shoot that man dead ! " groaned
Tobie in the background.

" No, you fool, Tobie," Joubard said angrily.
" Do you want us all to be massacred ? Anyhow,
let us first know what he means."

" I wonder where the master is ! " said Gigot,
and his teeth chattered.

" He lias killed him," Martin whispered, look-
ing at his father.

" This will be the ruin of us all," said old Jou-
bard aside to him. '' You, at least, keep out of the
way. Those men have carbines. You have not
come home from Spain to be shot by mistake for
a Chouan. I will try to speak civilly. Monsieur
le General," he said, leaning out of the window,
" your worship is mistaken. There are no Chou-
ans here, and no ladies. And Monsieur Angelot

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^34 ANGELOT

is not here. Only we. a few harmless sen-ants and
neighbours, taking care of the house, left n
charge while Monsieur de la Marm.ere ^^^nt to
peak to you. waiting till he comes back. We can
do nothing without his orders. Monsieur le

"Then you will do nothing till doomsday.'' said
Ratoneau. " Don't you understand that he is
dead, old fool, whoever you may be .

"Dead! Impossible!" old Joubard stam-
mered " Monsieur Joseph dead - murdered
And the gendarmes on your side, monsieur!
Why, he was here giving us our orders, a quarter

^' i:.h:lrTfied look he turned on Martin, there
was yet the shadow of a smile For Manm s
eager persuasions had sent Helene and Rie te
away with Marie Gigot through the woods to La
Mariniere. almost before Monsieur Joseph s ap-

''';:l::Tle..., again out of the window, his
rugged face in the full light of the tnormng. ^^
"This is a bad business, Monsieur le General,
he said " If it is true that you have killed Mon-
sieur Joseph, you have done enough for one day.
Take m a'dWce, draw your men off and go away^
Justice will follow you; and you have no righ
here I am not a Chouan. I am Joubard. of La
^^ubardiere. Monsieur Urbain de la Manniere s
Lest tenant, and my only son lost his limbs fight-
ing for the Emperor."

OUT INTO THE DAWN

435

Simon drew near, with his bandaged head, and
looked up at the window. " Ah! He has hnibs
enough left to do some mischief," he {growled
savagely. " Is he there, your precious cripple of
a son? I shall have something to say lo him, one
of these days,"

" Begone with you all," cried old Joubard, " for
a pack of thieves and murderers! You are a dis-
grace to the Emi)eror. his police and his army ! "

" Silence, old fool ! " shouted Ratoneau.
" What do you say about murder, you idiot ? Did
you never hear of a man being killed in a duel?
Come down, some of you, I say, or 1 fc:cc my
way in "

He would have done so, and easily, but for a
sudden interruption.

There was a wild hcvvl of pain from among the
trees beyond the kitchen, where one of Monsieur
Joseph's faithful dogs followed him to the land
where all faithfulness is perhaps rewarded; and
then the gendarme whom Joubard had tied to a
tree came running down to the house with the
comrade who had freed him and killed his guard.
He was eager to tell the General what he had seen
while every one but himself was away in the
western wood. He had seen two women and a
child escape from the house, and hurry away by
the footpath under the trees towards La Mari-
niere. One of the women was dressed in white;
he could see it under her cloak ; she spoke, and it
W3«i a lady's voice; they had passed quite near

436

ANGELOT

Ml] I

him. How long ago? Well, perhaps a quarter

of an hour. General Ratoneau stamped his foot

and ground his teeth. j .u^ u-

"Bring my horse!" he said; and then he

looked up ac^in at the window, at old Joubard s

stem face watching him.

•' Monsieur Ant^e de l'. Mariniere! ' he .houted
in tones of thunder. " Come uut «^ >;>^^^/^°^^'
little coward, if you are t^^ere. I w,ll teach you
to marry against the Emperor's commanus! iou
shall meet me before you see your wife again. I
.viil give account of you. and I win have what is
my own. What ! you daro not come oat? I hen
follow me to Sonnay. monsieur, by way of La

Mariniere." i „«

He flung himself into the saddle and rode off
at a furiou., pace, turning round to shout back to
Simnn. "I shall overtake her! Go on --shoot
them all — burn the house, if you must.

His horse plunged down into the shadows o
the narrow lane, and they heard the heavy thud
of its hoofs as it galloped away.

CHAPTER XXVIII

HOW GENERAL RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH

Within and without Les Choucttes the tnen
all Hstened till those sounds died away. '\htn
Simon turned to the little proup of gendarme;,
and said : " Come along, fellows, make a rush for
that window. If there are any Chouan gentlemen
here, we must not let them escape."

Then the oldest of the gendarmes, a man well
accustomed to hunting this sort of game, hung
back and looked at him queerly.

"There are none — I'll answer for that." he
said. "Certainly not Monsieur Ange de la
Mariniere. or he would have been out long ago —
and none of us ever felt sure that he was mixed up
in Chouannerie — "

"What are you talking about?" cried Simon.
" Hold your tongue, and do your duty. The Gen-
eral ordered us to break into the house and
search it. V.'hy, you know yourself that it is the
headquarters of this plot."

" If so. if I hear rightly, the master of it has
paid for his Chouannerie with hi.^ life." said the
man gravely, still holding back, and watching
Simon with a dogged steadiness. " Our mates

437

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ANGELOT

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have caught the other gentlemen — they could not
fail — and as for me, Monsieur Simon, I don't
feel inclined to take any more orders from that
General of yours. To me, he seems like a mad-
man. There's private malice behind all this. It
is not the sort of justice that suits me — to kill a
gentleman and shoot his servants and burn his
house down. I tell you, fellows, I don't like it —
there are limits to what the police ought to do,
and we shall find ourselves in the wrong box,
if we go further without the Prefect's war-
rant."

" Obey your orders, or you'll pay for it ! "
shouted Simon. " Come on, men ! " and he ran
towards the house.

" Be ofif, or we fire ! " cried a voice from the
window above.

"A!! right, Maitre Joubard, don't fire; wc
know you are a loyal man," said the spokesman of
the gendarmes. " I am going straight back to
Sonnay, to see what Monsieur le Prefet says to
all this. Do you agree ? " he turned to his com-
rades, who had drawn up behind him, and who
answered, even the man who had been tied to
the tree, by a quick murmur of assent. " Come,
Monsieur Simon, I advise you to cast in your lot
with us ; you have had too much to do with that
madman. Everybody hates him. They sent him
down here because they could not stand him in
the army."

As Simon turned his back and walked sulkily

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HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 439

away, the gendarme added : " Come down, some
of you, and look for your master. He may be
still alive."

The men in the room above looked at each
other. They could not and did not believe that
Monsieur Joseph was dead. To his old servants,
it was one of those shocks too heavy for the brain
to bear ; the thought stunned them. Large tears
were rolling down oM Joubard's cheeks, but his
brain and Martin's were active enc-jgh.

"What do you think?" he said to his son.
" Are they safe at La Mariniere? "

*' I'll wager my wooden leg they are," Martin
said cheerfully. "They had a good start, and
that lumbering brute with his big horse would
not know the shortest i ath. And once with Mon-
sieur Urbain — "

" Ah, poor man ! Well, let us go down and
look for him, the little uncle. Ah, Martin, all the
pretty girls in the world will take long to comfort
Monsieur Angelot — and as to Mademoiselle
Henriette ! "

" The gendarme said he might be still alive,"
said Martin. "See, they are gone round to
him."

" He is dead," said Joubard. " Come, Gigot,
you and I must carry him in. As to you, Tobie,
just keep watch on this side with your gun —
that poisonous snake of a Simon is prowling about
there. Don't shoot, of course, but keep him off;
don't let him get into the house."

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ANGELOT

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Martin lingered a moment behind his father.
" Tobie," he said, " that Simon has been Mon-
sieur Angelot's enemy all through. I thought I
had finished him with my stick, two or three
hours ago, but — "

" I know — I have my master's orders," said
Tobie. He smiled, and lifted his gun to his
shoulder.

The sun was rising when they found Monsieur
Joseph on his bed of soft grass and leaves, at the
foot of his owij old oak just bronzed by the sun of
August and September. Up above the squirrels
were playing; they did not disturb his sleep,
though they scampered along the boughs and
squeaked and peeped down curiously. The birds
cried and chirped about him in the oi>ening day ;
and one long ray of yellow sunshine pierced the
eastern screen of trees, creeping all along up the
broad slope where the autumn crocuses grew,
till it laid itself softly and caressingly on the smil-
ing face turned to meet it once more. The sports-
man had gone out for the last time into his loved
fields and woods; and perhaps he would have
chosen to die there, rather than in a curtained
room with fre;;h air and daylight shut out. Nii
doubt the manner of his death had been terrible;
but the pain was momentary, and he had gone to
meet it in his highest mood, all one flame of in-
dignation against evil, and ready, generous self-
sacrifice. He had died for .^ngelot, fighting his
enemy; he had carried out his little daughter's

HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 441

words, and the last drop of that good heart's
blood was for Angelot, though indeed his dear
boy's enemy was also the enemy of the cause he
loved, to which his life had been given. No more
conspiracies now for the little Royalist gentle-
man.

They all came and stood about him, Joubard,
Martin. Gigot, and the party of gendarmes. At
first they hardly liked to touch him; he lay so
peacefully asleep under the tree, his thin .ight
hand pressed over his heart, where the sword had
wounded him. such a look of perfect content on
the face that death had marked for its own. His
sword lay on the grass beside him, where it had
fallen from his dying hand. Martin picked it up.
saying in a low voice. " This will be for Monsieur
Angelot."

Sturdy Gigot, choking with sobs, turned upon

him fiercely.

" It belongs to mademoiselle."

They lifted Monsieur Joseph — old Joubard at
his head, Gigot at his feet — and carried their
light burden down to his house, in at his own
bedroom window. They laid him on his bed in
the alcove, and then were afraid to touch hi^^i any
more. All the group of strong men stood and
looked at him, Gigot weeping loudly, Joubard
silently; even the eyes of the gendarmes were
wet.

" We must have women here," said Joubard.

Turning round, he saw Monsieur Joseph's let-

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443 ANGELOT

ter to his brother lying on the table; he took it up
and gave it to Gigot.

"Take this letter to La Mariniere," he said,
" and tell Monsieur Urbain what has happened.
And you," to the gendarmes, " be off to Sonnay,
and make your report at once to Monsieur le Pre-
fet. I doubt if he will justify all that is done in

his name." , , v • j

" We will do as you say, Maitre Joubard, said

the gendarme.

A few minutes later the only one of the Gen-
eral's party left at Les Chouettes was Simon. He
skulked round behind the buildings, but could not
persuade himself to go away. It seemed to htm
that there was a good deal of danger in escaping
on foot ; that the country people, enraged by Mon-
sieur Joseph's death, delighted, as they probably
would be, by Monsieur Angelot's marriage, would
all be his enemies. He was half terrified by Gen-
eral Ratoneaus desperation. Suppose he had
overtaken Angelot's young bride and her compan-
ions ' suppose he had swung her up on his horse
and carried her away, forgetting that he was not
campaigning in a foreign country, but living
peaceably in France, where the law protected
people from such violent doings. It might be
very inconvenient, in such a case, to appear at Son-
nay as a friend and follower of General Ratoneuu.
Any credit he still had with the Prefect, for in-
stance, would be lost for ever. And yet, if he
deserted the General entirely, washed his hands.

HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 443

as far as possible, of him and his doings, what
chance was there of receiving the large sums of
money so grudgingly promised him !

"A hard master, the devil!" Simon muttered
to himself.

He peeped cautiously round the corner of the
kitchen wall, where the silver birches had scat-
tered their golden leaves in the wind of the night.
He watched the little band of gendarmes as they
started down the road towards Sonnay. It struck
him that his best plan would be to slip away across
the landcs towards the 6tang des Morts, and to
put himself right with the authorities by helping
to capture a few Chouan gentlemen and convey-
ing them to prison.

But first — how still all the place was! The
men were busy, he supposed, with their dead mas-
ter. Surely those windows were not so firmly
fastened but that he couid make his way in. and
perhaps find some evidence to prove Monsieur
Joseph's complicity in the plots of the moment.
He walked lightly across the sand. A dog barked
in the house, and Martin Joubard looked out from
an upper window.

All the evil passions of his nature rose in Simon
then. That was the man who knew he had ar-
rested Angelot; that was the man who had
knocked him down in the park and lost him half
an hour of valuable time. As Angelot himself, in
some mysterious way, was out of reach, here was
this man on whom he might revenge himself.

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Both for his own sake and the General's, this man
would be better out of the way ; Simon raised his
loaded carbine and fired.

Martin stepped back at the instant, and he
missed him. The shot grazed Tobie's cheek as he
knelt inside the room, resting his long gun-barrel
on the low window-sill. ^^

"Ah Chouan-catcher, your time is come!
muttered Tobie, and his gun went off almost of

itself. , , ,

Simon flung up his arms in the air, and dropped

upon the sand.

While these things were happening at Les
Chouettes, Angelot was hurrying back from his
mission to the fetang des Morts. He was full of
wild happiness, a joy that could not be believed in.
till he saw and touched Helene again. His heart
was as light as the air of that glorious morning,
so keen, clear, and still on the high moorlands as
he crossed them.

He had dcij, all and more than the little uncle
expected of him. In the darkness before dawn,
as he rode through the deep lanes beyond La Jou-
bardiere, he had met a friendly peasant who
warned him that a party of police and gendarmes
vas watching the country a little farther south,
towards the fetang des Morts. He therefore left
his horse in a shed, took to the fields and woods.
and intercepted Cesar d'Ombre on his way to the
rendezvous. Explanations were not altogether

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HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 445

easy, for Cesar cared little for the private affairs
of young La Mariiiiere. He had never expected
much from the son of Urbain. He took his warn-
ing, and gave up his companionship easily enough.
Striking off across country, avoiding all roads
likely to be patrolled by the police, he made his
way alone to Brittany and the coast, while Ange-
lot returned by the way he had come.

For the sake of taking the very shortest cut
across the landcs, he brought his horse up to La
Joubardicre and left him there. For no horse
could carry him through the lanes, rocky as they
were, at the pace that he could run and walk
across country, and it was only because Uncle
Joseph insisted on it that he had taken a horse at
all.

The golden light of sunrise spread over the
moor as he ran. He took long leaps through the
heather, and coveys of birds scuttled out of his
way; but their lives were safe that morning,
though his eyes followed them eagerly. Far be-
yond the purple landcs, the woods of Lancilly lay
heaped against the western sky, a billowy dark
green sea of velvet touched with the bright gold
of autumn and of sunrise; and the chateau itself
shone out broad in its glittering whiteness. The
guests were all gone now ; the music was still ;
and for Angelot the place was emptv, a mere
shell, a pile of stones. Other roofs covered the
joy of his life now.

This shortest cut from La Joubardiere did not

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446

ANGELOT

bring him to Les Chouettes by the usual road, but
by a sharp slope of moorland, all stones and bushes
and no path at all, and then across one or two
small fields into a narrow lane, a bndle-path
between high straggling hedges, one way from
Les Chouettes to La Mariniere. The poplars by
the manor gate, a shining a:w, lifted their tall
heads, always softly rustling, a quarter of a mile

farther on. . , j-* u

Angelot ran across the fields, jumped a ditch,
reached the lane at a sharp corner, and was turn-
ing to the right towards Les Chouettes, thinking
in his joyful gladness that he would be back be-
fore even Helene expected him, when something
struck his ear and brought him to a sudden stand.
It was a woman's scream.

"Help help!" a voice cried; and then again
there was a piteous shriek of pain or extreme

terror.

For one moment Angelot hesitated. Who or
what could this be? Some one was in trouble,
some woman, and probably a woman he knew
Or could it be a child, hurt by some animal .
One of the bulls at La Mariniere was very fierce ;
there had been trouble with him before now. Ah .
he must turn his back on Helene and see what
It meant, this cursed interruption. What were
they doing to let that beast roam about alone.
And even' as he turned the shriek tore the air
again, and now he could hear a man's voice, rough
and furious, a confusion of voices, the stamp-

HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 447

ing of a horse, the creaking of harness. No!
Bellot the bull was not the aggressor here.

Angelot loosened his hunting knife as he ran
along the lane. It turned shari)ly once or twice
between its banks, dipping into the hollow^ then
climbing again to La Mariniere. At its lowest
point it touched the elbow of a stream, wind-
ing away under willows to join the river near
Lancilly, and overflowing the lane in winter and
stormy weather. Now, liowever, the passage was
dry, and at that very point a group of figures
was struggling. Angelot had the eyes of a hawk,
and at that distance knew them all.

General Ratoneau was on horseback; his gold
lace flashed in the sunlight. Before him on the
horse's neck lay a girl's white figure, flung across
the front of the saddle, struggling, shrieking, held
down by his bridle hand which also clutched her
dress, while with the butt-end of a pistol he threat-
ened Marie Gigot, who screamed for help as she
hung to the horse's head. He, good creature, not
being one of the General's own chargers, but a
harmless beast borrowed without leave from the
Lancilly stables, backed from Marie instead of
pushing and trampling her down in obedience to
his desperate rider. Little Henriette did her best
by clinging tightly to the white folds of her
cousin's gown as they fell over the horse's shoul-
der, and was in great danger of being either
pushed down or kicked away by Ratoneau, as
soon as he should have disposed of Marie.

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ANGELOT

"Let eo. woman!" he sho«tc<l. with frightful
oaths. '• Let go. or IMl kill you! Do you see t^^^^
pistol? A moment more, and 111 dash vour
brains out -send you after y""'-^"^^f ^'/;^
you hear? -Ah. bah! keep stdl. beaut v ! a
Helene almost struggled away from hun 1
don't want to hurt you. bv:t I will have what .s
my own. Get away, child, we don t want you.
Morbleau! what's that?" , pj^ttpU

It was a sound of quick runnmg. and Riette s
keen ears had heard it already. It had uKleed
saved Ratoneau from being shot dead on the
spot, for the child had let go her ho d on her
cousin's dress with one hand and had cUttched
he tiny, beautiful pistol with which her father had
trusted her. and which she had hidden mstde her
frock. True, she was shaking with the ternble
excitement of the moment, she was nearly dragged
off her feet by the horse's plunging backwards,
and a correct aim seemed almost impossible -
but her father had told her to defend Angelots
wife, and Riette was very sure that this wicked
man should not carry away Helene. as long as
she had life and a weapon to prevent it. And it
she could have understood tho.e woids to Mane
_ " send you after your master " - there would
have been no hesitation at all

At the same moment, she and the General
turned their heads and looked up the lane Some-
thing wild and lithe, bright and ^P^^nd^d jam
flying straight down from the east, from the

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HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 449

heart of the sunrise. Tl)e swiftness with which
Angelot darted upoti thoin was ahnost supernat-
ural. He might have been a yo "ig god of the
Greek■^, Hashing from iieaveii to rescue his earthly
love from an eartlily ravishtr.

Ratoneau was not i)rcpared for such a sudden
and fiery onslauglit. It was easy, the work he
expected — to tear Helcne from the company of
a woman and child, to carry her off to Sonnay.
He considered her his own property, given to
him by the Emi)eror, stolen from him by her
father and Angelot. It would be easy, he told
himself, to have the absurd midnight ceremony
declared illegal; or if nut. he would soon find
means to put Angelot out of his "ay. By fair
means or by foul, he meant to have the girl and
to marrv her. If his met od was that of the
ancient Gauls — well, she would forgive him in
time! Women love a hero, however roughly he
may treat them. He thought he had learnt that
from experience; and if Helene de Sainfoy
thought herself too good for him. she must find
her level. The man swore t< himself thai he loved
her, and would be good to her. when once she
was his own. As he lifted her on the liorse he
knew he loved her with all the violent instincts
of a coarse and unrestrained nature.

And now came vengeance, darting upon him

like a bolt from the shining sky. Before his

slower senses even knew what was happening,

before, encumbered with his prey, he could fire

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450

ANGELOT

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a pistol or draw his sword, Helene had been
snatched from him into Angelot's arms. No
leave asked of Ratoneau; a spring and a clutch;
it might have been a tiger leaping at the horse's
neck and carrying off its victim. The girl
screamed again and again, as Angelot set her on
the ground, and trembled so that she could not
stand alone. As her lover supported her for an
instant, saying to Marie Gigot, who ran forward
from the horse's head, "Take her — take her
home!" Ratoneau fired his pistol straight at
the two young heads so near together. The
bullet passed actually bet veen them, touchmg
Helene's curls. Then the sturdy peasant woman
threw a strong arm round her, and dragged her
away towards La Mariniere.

Angelot, with a flushed face and blazing eyes,
turned to the General, who sat and glared in
speechless fury. Then the young fellow smiled,
lifted his hat, and set it jauntily on again. He
had not drawn his hunting knife, and stood
empty-handed, though this and a pair of pistols
were in his belt.

"And now. Monsieur le General!" he said,

a little breathlessly.

Ratoneau stared at him, struck, even at that
moment, by his extraordinary likeness to his
uncle. There was the same easy grace, the same
light gaiety, the same joy in battle and fearless
confidence, with more outward dash and daring.
Ah, well! as the other insolent life had ended.

HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 451

so in a few minutes this should end. It would
be easy — a slip of a boy — it was fortunate in-
deed, that it happened so.

" Mille tonnerres ! you can be buried to-
gether ! " said Ratoneau.

" Merci, monsieur, I hope so — a hundred
years hence," Angelot answered with a laugh.

" You are mistaken — I am not talking of your
wife," growled Ratoneau. " She will be a widow
in ten minutes, and married to me in a month.
I mean that you and your precious uncle can be
buried together,"

" Indeed! Is my uncle going to die? " Ange-
lot said carelessly ; but he looked at the madman
a little more steadily, with the sudden idea that
he was really and literally mad.

" He is dead already. I have killed him," said
Ratoneau.

Angelot turned pale, and stepped back a pace,
watching him cautiously,

"When? Where? I don't believe it," he
said.

" We had a disagreement," said Ratoneau.
" It was about you that we quarrelled, a worth-
less cause. He chose to take your part, and to
insult me. I ran him through the body."

Saying this, he slowly dismounted and drew
his sword. Angelot stood motionless, looking at
him. The words had stunned him; his heart
and brain seemed to be gripped by icy hands,
crushing out all sensation. Henriette, who had

452

ANGELOT

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not followed the others, came up and stood beside
him, her great dark eyes, full of horror, fixed
upon General Ratoneau. She was motionless and
dumb ; under the folds of her frock, her fingers
gripped the little pistol. As long as she remained
silent, neither of the men saw that she was
there.

"Look!" said Ratoneau. He held out his
sword, red and still wet, as he had thrust it back
into the scabbard after killing Monsieur Joseph.
" Give up the girl to me or you follow your
uncle," he said, after a moment's frightful pause.
Henriette came a step nearer, came cjuite close
and looked at the sword. Every drop of her
own blood had forsaken her small face, always
delicate and pale. Suddenly she stretched out
her hand and touched the sword, saying in
a low voice, "That was why he did not come
back!"

" Oh, good God ! Go away, child ! " cried An-

gelot, suddenly waking from his trance of horror,

and pushing her violently back.

Then he drew his knife and sprang furiously

upon the General.

" Villain ! murderer ! " he shouted as he closed

with him; for this was no formal fight with

swords.

"Keep off. little devil, or I'll tear you to

pieces! " shrieked Ratoneau. " What! You will

have it ? Come on then, plague upon you, cursed

wild cat ! "

HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 453

It was an unequal struggle; for Angelot,
though strong, was slender and small, and Raton-
eau had height and width of ciiest, besides great
muscular power. And he hated Angelot with all
the intensity of his violent nature. It was a case
in which strength told, and Angelot had been un-
wise in trusting to his own. A duel with pistols,
as he had no sword, would have been better for
him. Still, at first, his furious attack brought
him some advantage. He wrenched Ratoneau's
sword from his hand and flung it into the stream.
Twice he wounded him slightly with his knife,
but Ratoneau, hugging him like a bear, made it
difficult to strike, and the fight became a tremen-
dous wrestling match, in which the two men
struggled and panted and slipped and lurched
from side to side, from the grassy bank to the
willows by the water, each vainly trying to throw
the other.

The issue of such a combat could not long be
doubtful. Courage and energy being equal, the
taller and heavier man was sure to have the better
of it. Several times Angelot tried to trip his
enemy up, >■ failed, for his wrestling skill, as
well as his strength, was not equal to Ratoneau's.
The General was more successful. A twist of his
leg, and both men were dashed violently down
upon the stones, Angelot underneath.

His knife had already dropped from his hand.
Ratoneau snatched it up. and knelt over him, one
knee on his chest, one hand on his throat, the knife

454

ANGELOT

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in the other. Looking up into the dark, furious
eyes bent upon him, watching the evil smile that
broadened round the handsome, cruel mouth, An-
gelot felt that his last moment was come. That
face leaning over him was the face of death itself.
The little uncle would not be long alone in the
unknown country to which this same hand had

sent him.

" How about your pretty wife now, Mon-
sieur Angelot?" the snarling voice said, and
the sharp knife trembled and flashed in the

sunshine.

Angelot set his teeth, and closed his eyes that
he might not see it. Ratoneau went on saying
something, but he did not hear, for in those few
moments he dreamed a dream. Helene's face was
bending over his, her soft hair falling upon him,
her lips touching his. Was death already over,
and was this Paradise?

He came back to life with a violent start, at the
discharge of a pistol close by ; and then the weight
on his chest became suddenly unbearable, and the
knife dropped from his enemy's hand, and the
cruel face fell aside, changing into something
still more dreadful. In another minute he had
dragged himself out from under Ratoneau's dead
body, and staring wildly round, saw Riette hold-
ing a pistol.

" Ah! do not look at me so! " she cried, as she
met her cousin's horrified eyes. " I had to save
you ! Papa will not be angry."

HOW RATONEAU MET HIS MATCH 455

" He is avenged. You are a heroine, Riette ! "
he said, and held out his arms to her; but the
child flung away her little weapon which had done
so great a deed, and threw herself upon the
ground in a passionate agony of tears.

CHAPTER XXIX

1 ■

THE DISAPPOINTMENT OF MONSIEUR URBAIN

It was an afternoon late in November. A
wild wind was blowing, and shadows were flying
across the country and the leafless woods which
rushed and cried like the sea. A great full moon
shone in the sky, chased over and constantly ob-
scured by thin racing clouds, silver and copper-
coloured on the blue-black depths of air.

Madame de la Mariniere was alone in her old
room. The candles were lighted on her work-
table, her embroidery frame stood beside it, the
needle carelessly stuck in; a fire of logs was
flaming up the wide black chimney. Anne was
not working, but wandering restlessly up and
down the room. Once she went to a window and
dragged it open; the moonlight flowed in, and
with it a soft rough blast that blew the candles
about wildly and made smoke and flames fly out
from the fire. Anne hastily, with some difficulty,
closed the window and fastened it again.

She had not waited very long when slow heavy
feet came tramping through the stone court, the
house door opened and shut with a clang, and
Monsieur Urbain came into the room. As he

456

THE DISAPPOINTMENT

457

took Anne's hand and kissed it in the old pretty
fashion, she looked anxiously into his face, a
very sad face in these days. Urbain's philosophy
had been hardly tried of late. And his wife was
not mistaken in fancying that something new had
happened that day to deepen the hollows round
his eyes, the lines on his rugged brow. She would
not, even dared not ask, for reasons of her own.
It might well be that his grief and her joy should
run on the same lines. Anne had been praying
for something; she was half afraid, though she
fully expected, to hear that her prayer was
granted.

Urbain sat down by the fire, and stretched out
his feet and hands to the blaze.

" Where are the children ? " he said.

Anne smiled very sweetly. " Out somewhere
in the moonlight. Ange thinks there is nothing
for Helene like fresh air."

" From her looks, he is right."

" It is not only the fresh air — " Anne broke
off, then went on again. " Well, my friend, you
went to Sonnay — you took the child to the con-
vent?"

" Yes — she Will be very safe there for a
time — the reverend mothers received her ex-
cellently. I do not care for convents, as you
know, but I am not sure that Henriette, even at
this early age, has not found her vocation. Till
to-day, I do not think I had seen the child smile
since — "

■' fi- ; f

Ifa.

458

ANGELOT

"Ah yes — " Anne murmured something
under her breath. " Did you see Monsieur de

" For a few minutes. I talked so long with the
Prioress that it was late before I reached the Pre-
fecture. He had been to Paris. He explamed all
that tissue of rascality to the Emperor, so that
no blame might fall on the wrong shoulders.
Luckily His Majesty disliked Ratoneau; the man
smoked and syvore too much to pleaj^e him.^^

" But after all." Anne said houghtfuUy, the
Prefect drew up those papers himself, if he did
not send them. And you. Urbain — " ^

He waved his hand sadly, impatiently. No
more of me, I am punished enough," he said. I
thought I was acting for everybody's good — but
alas ' — Yes, De Mauves drew up the papers, and
then repented. He threw them into a drawer and
determined at least to delay sending them till cir-
cumstances and Ratoneau should force his hand
further. Then came his illness; recovering, he
believed the papers to be safe in his bureau, and
left this affair, with many others, to arrange itselt
later In the meanwhile, the rascal Simon had
corrupted his foolish young secretary and stolen
the papers -you know the rest. I suppose we
should be glad that he found out in time —
" Can any one be otherwise than glad ? Anne

said gravely.

" Yes, my dear, there are those who are very
sorry. And — before you blame them too hardly,

THE DISAPPOINTMENT

459

remember that Angelot's marriage was the imme-
diate cause of Joseph's death."

" The wickedness of a wicked man is alone to
be blamed for that," said Anne. Ht:lene's mar-
riage with such an unspeakable wretch would
have been a worse thing still."

Urhain sighed, and did not answer. Presently,
gazing into the fire, while Anne watched him with
intent, questioning eyes, he said, " It appears that
the Emperor is a little angry with Herve for his
hurried action, though he does not object to its
consequence, being good enough to say that he
values me and my influence in this country. But
he does not like to be treated as a tyrant. De
Mauves thinks that Adelaide will not have the
post of lady-in-waiting. It is a pity ; she had set
her heart on it."

Anne shrugged her shoulders slightly; it was
beyond her power, being a truthful woman, to
express any sympathy with Adelaide. It was
her coldest little voice that said, " Have you been
to Lancilly to-day ? "

" Yes," her husband answered.

" Did you see Adelaide? "

" No."

A bitter smile curled Anne's still beautiful
mouth as she stood near his hair and 'ooked at
him. Was it only or chiefiy Adelaide's unfor-
giving anger that weighed on his brc .d shoulders,
bent his clever brow, drove the old contented smile
from his face? True, Joseph's death might well

460

ANGELOT

fitlMi.

have done all this; but she knew Urbain. an-l he
was not the man to cower under the inevitable.
It was his way to meet the blows of fate with a
brave front, if not a gay one; he was a French-
man, and had lived and laughed through the great
Revolution. And yet Anne was puzzled ; for she
respected Urbain too much to acknowledge that
Adelaide's anger could have so great an effect

upon him.

After a short silence he spoke, and told her all;
told her of the disappointment of his dearest
hopes, the failure of the schemes and struggles of
a lifetime. And as he talked. Anne came gradu-
ally nearer, till at last, with a most unusur.i de-
monstrativeness. her arm was round his neck, and
her cheek pressed against his whitening hair.
Large tears ran down the man's face and dropped
across his wife's ha.id and splashed on the tapes-
tried arm of the chair.

The Sainfoys were about to leave LanciUy,
and probably for ever. Adelaide could not en-
dure it; since her daughter's marriage it had be-
come odious to her. Neither did Georges like it ;
and before going back to the army he had become
engaged to the heiress with whom he had danced
so much at the ball, who had a castle and large
estates of her own in Touraine. and who consid-
ered LanciUy far too wild and old-fashioned to
be inhabited, except perhaps for a month in the
shooting season. Thus it was not unlikely that
LanciUy would be sold; and for the present it

THE DISAPPOINTMENT

461

was to be dismantled and shut up; once ni.)re
the deserted place, the preservation of w liich. the
restoring to its right inlia!)itauts, had been the
dream and ambition of Urbain de la Mariniere's
life. For his cousin Herve he had spent all his en-
ergies and a considerable part of his fortune : .md
to no purpose and worse than none. Lven
Herve's love and gratitude failed him now ; the
knowledge that Herve could never quite forget or
forgive his plotting with Adelaide id Ratoneau.
was the sharpest sting of all ; worse even, as his
wife felt with a throb of rapturous joy. than the
fact that Adelaide would smile on him no more.
" My poor Urbain! " she murmured.
Her sympathy was tender and real, though
she felt that her prayer had been answered, that
she and her house had been delivered from the
crushing weight of Lancilly, that the great castle
on the hill would henceforth be a harmless pile of
stones, to be viewed without the old dislike and
jealousy. It seemed to her now that she had not
known a happy day since the Sainfoys came back,
or even for long before, while Urbain's whole
soul was wrapped up in preparing for them. Yet
she was very sorry for Urbain.

" All for nothing, and worse than nofning," he
sighed ; and she found no words to comfort him.
The fire crackled and blazed ; outside, the wind
rolled in great thundering blasts over the country.
It roared so loudly in the chimneys that nothing
else was to be heard. Urbain went on talking, so

■trPt'Sfl {t

462

ANGELOT

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low that his wife, stooping over his chair, could
hardly hear him; but she knew that all he said
had the one refrain - " I have worked for twenty
years, and this is the end of it all. ' I might have
left poor Joseph in exile. I might have allowed
Lancilly to tumble into ruins. What has come of
it all ! Nothing, nothing but disappointment and
failure. Is it not enough to break a man's heart,
to give the best of his whole life, and to fail ! "

The wind went on roaring. Absorbed in his
own thoughts, he did not hear the house door
open and shut, then the door of the room, then
the light steps of Angelot and Helene across the

floor- . , . , J

" Look up, Urbain! " his wife said with a sud-
den inspiration. " There is your success, dear

friend!" . ,

There was a bright pink colour m Helene s
cheeks; her eyes and lips, once so sad, were smil-
ing in perfect content; her fair curls were blown
about her face; she was gloriously beautiful. An-
gelot held her hand, and his dark eyes glowed as
he looked at her. ^^

" We have been fighting the elements, he said.
Urbain and Anne gazed at them, these two
splendid young creatures for whom life was be-
ginning. The philos .pher's brow and eyes light-
ened suddenly, and he smiled.

"And by your triumphant looks, you have
conquered them! " he said. " Is that my doing,
Anne? Is that my success, my victory? he

THE DISAPPOINTMENT 463

added after a moment in her ear. " Yes, dearest,
you are right. Embrace me, my children ! "

Les Chouettes was shut up for seven years, and
the country people were shy of passing it in the
dusk, for they said that under the old oaks you
might meet Monsieur Joseph with his gun and
dog as of old, coming back from a day's shooting.
When old Joubard heard that, he said — and his
wife crossed herself at the saying — that he would
rather meet Monsieur Joseph, dead, than any
living gentleman of Anjou.

But there came a time when young life took
possession again of Les Chouettes, and lovely lit-
tle chiJdren played in the sandy court and picked
wild flowers and ran after butterflies in the
meadow; when Madame Ange de la Mariniere
wandered out in the soft twilight, without fear
of ghosts or men, to meet her husband as he
walked down the rugged lane from the landes
after a long day's shooting.

And there were no plots now in Anjou, and
neither Chouans nor police haunted the woods;
for Napoleon was at St. Helena, and France
could breathe throughout her provinces, for the
iron bands were taken off her heart, and the young
generation might grow up without being cut
down in its flower.

It was at this time that Henriette de la Mari-
niere decided to give Les Chouettes to her cousin
Angelot, and finally to enter the convent where

I. ■':^'^,'rr^m 'r.w.^.fm-

464

ANGELOT

she had spent much time since her father's death,
and where she died as Prioress late in the nine-
teenth century, having seen in France three
Kings, a second Empire, and a Republic.

She remained through all, of course, a con-
sistent Royalist like her father. But to some
minds, such an ebb and flow may seem to justify
the philosophy of Urbain, and even more, per-
haps, the light and happy indifference of Angelot.

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