he had thus interrupted, he was unable to imagine what the Parisian
police meant by their suspicions.

At that moment Laurence, kneeling in her oratory, was praying fervently
for the success of the conspiracy. She prayed to God to send help and
succor to the murderers of Bonaparte. She implored Him ardently to
destroy that fatal being. The fanaticism of Harmodius, Judith, Jacques
Clement, Ankarstroem, of Charlotte Corday and Limoelan, inspired this
pure and virgin spirit. Catherine was preparing the bed, Gothard was
closing the blinds, when Marthe Michu coming under the windows flung a
pebble on the glass and was seen at once.

"Mademoiselle, here's some one," said Gothard, seeing a woman.

"Hush!" said Marthe, in a low voice. "Come down and speak to me."

Gothard was in the garden in less time than a bird would have taken to
fly down from a tree.

"In a minute the chateau will be surrounded by the gendarmerie. Saddle
mademoiselle's horse without making any noise and take it down through
the breach in the moat between the stables and this tower."

Marthe quivered when she saw Laurence, who had followed Gothard,
standing beside her.

"What is it?" asked Laurence, quietly.

"The conspiracy against the First Consul is discovered," replied Marthe,
in a whisper. "My husband, who seeks to save your two cousins, sends me
to ask you to come and speak to him."

Laurence drew back and looked at Marthe. "Who are you?" she said.

"Marthe Michu."

"I do not know what you want of me," replied the countess, coldly.

"Take care, you will kill them. Come with me, I implore you in the
Simeuse name," said Marthe, clasping her hands and stretching them
towards Laurence. "Have you papers here which may compromise you? If so,
destroy them. From the heights over there my husband has just seen the
silver-laced hats and the muskets of the gendarmerie."

Gothard had already clambered to the hay-loft and seen the same sight;
he heard in the stillness of the evening the sound of their horses'
hoofs. Down he slipped into the stable and saddled his mistress's mare,
whose feet Catherine, at a word from the lad, muffled in linen.

"Where am I to go?" said Laurence to Marthe, whose look and language
bore the unmistakable signs of sincerity.

"Through the breach," she replied; "my noble husband is there. You shall
learn the value of a 'Judas'!"

Catherine went quickly into the salon, picked up the hat, veil, whip,
and gloves of her mistress, and disappeared. This sudden apparition and
action were so striking a commentary on the mayor's inquiry that
Madame d'Hauteserre and the abbe exchanged glances which contained the
melancholy thought: "Farewell to all our peace! Laurence is conspiring;
she will be the death of her cousins."

"But what do you really mean?" said Monsieur d'Hauteserre to the mayor.

"The chateau is surrounded. You are about to receive a domiciliary
visit. If your sons are here tell them to escape, and the Simeuse
brothers too, if they are with them."

"My sons!" exclaimed Madame d'Hauteserre, stupefied.

"We have seen no one," said Monsieur d'Hauteserre.

"So much the better," said Goulard; "but I care too much for the
Cinq-Cygne and Simeuse families to let any harm come to them. Listen to
me. If you have any compromising papers--"

"Papers!" repeated the old gentleman.

"Yes, if you have any, burn them at once," said the mayor. "I'll go and
amuse the police agents."

Goulard, whose object was to run with the royalist hare and hold with
the republican hounds, left the room; at that moment the dogs barked
violently.

"There is no longer time," said the abbe, "here they come! But who is to
warn the countess? Where is she?"

"Catherine didn't come for her hat and whip to make relics of them,"
remarked Mademoiselle Goujet.

Goulard tried to detain the two agents for a few moments, assuring them
of the perfect ignorance of the family at Cinq-Cygne.

"You don't know these people!" said Peyrade, laughing at him.

The two agents, insinuatingly dangerous, entered the house at once,
followed by the corporal from Arcis and one gendarme. The sight of them
paralyzed the peaceful card-players, who kept their seats at the table,
terrified by such a display of force. The noise produced by a dozen
gendarmes whose horses were stamping on the terrace, was heard without.

"I do not see Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne," said Corentin.

"She is probably asleep in her bedroom," said Monsieur d'Hauteserre.

"Come with me, ladies," said Corentin, turning to pass through the
ante-chamber and up the staircase, followed by Mademoiselle Goujet and
Madame d'Hauteserre. "Rely upon me," he whispered to the old lady. "I am
in your interests. I sent the mayor to warn you. Distrust my colleague
and look to me. I can save every one of you."

"But what is it all about?" said Mademoiselle Goujet.

"A matter of life and death; you must know that," replied Corentin.

Madame d'Hauteserre fainted. To Mademoiselle Goujet's great astonishment
and Corentin's disappointment, Laurence's room was empty. Certain that
no one could have escaped from the park or the chateau, for all the
issues were guarded, Corentin stationed a gendarme in every room and
ordered others to search the farm buildings, stables, and sheds. Then he
returned to the salon, where Durieu and his wife and the other servants
had rushed in the wildest excitement. Peyrade was studying their faces
with his little blue eye, cold and calm in the midst of the uproar. Just
as Corentin reappeared alone (Mademoiselle Goujet remaining behind to
take care of Madame d'Hauteserre) the tramp of horses was heard, and
presently the sound of a child's weeping. The horses entered by the
small gate; and the general suspense was put an end to by a corporal
appearing at the door of the salon pushing Gothard, whose hands were
tied, and Catherine whom he led to the agents.

"Here are some prisoners," he said; "that little scamp was escaping on
horseback."

"Fool!" said Corentin, in his ear, "why didn't you let him alone? You
could have found out something by following him."

Gothard had chosen to burst into tears and behave like an idiot.
Catherine took an attitude of artless innocence which made the old agent
reflective. The pupil of Lenoir, after considering the two prisoners
carefully, and noting the vacant air of the old gentleman whom he took
to be sly, the intelligent eye of the abbe who was still fingering the
cards, and the utter stupefaction of the servants and Durieu, approached
Corentin and whispered in his ear, "We are not dealing with ninnies."

Corentin answered with a look at the card-table; then he added, "They
were playing at boston! Mademoiselle's bed was just being made for the
night; she escaped in a hurry; it is a regular surprise; we shall catch
them."

CHAPTER VII. A FOREST NOOK

A breach has always a cause and a purpose. Here is the explanation of
how the one which led from the tower called that of Mademoiselle and the
stables came to be made. After his installation as Laurence's guardian
at Cinq-Cygne old d'Hauteserre converted a long ravine, through which
the water of the forest flowed into the moat, into a roadway between two
tracts of uncultivated land belonging to the chateau, by merely planting
out in it about a hundred walnut trees which he found ready in the
nursery. In eleven years these trees had grown and branched so as to
nearly cover the road, hidden already by steep banks, which ran into a
little wood of thirty acres recently purchased. When the chateau had its
full complement of inhabitants they all preferred to take this covered
way through the breach to the main road which skirted the park walls and
led to the farm, rather than go round by the entrance. By dint of thus
using it the breach in the sides of the moat had gradually been widened
on both sides, with all the less scruple because in this nineteenth
century of ours moats are no longer of the slightest use, and Laurence's
guardian had often talked of putting this one to some other purpose. The
constant crumbling away of the earth and stones and gravel had ended by
filling up the ditch, so that only after heavy rains was the causeway
thus constructed covered. But the bank was still so steep that it was
difficult to make a horse descend it, and even more difficult to get him
up upon the main road. Horses, however, seem in times of peril to share
their masters' thought.

While the young countess was hesitating to follow Marthe, and asking
explanations, Michu, from his vantage-ground watched the closing in of
the gendarmes and understood their plan. He grew desperate as time
went by and the countess did not come to him. A squad of gendarmes were
marching along the park wall and stationing themselves as sentinels,
each man being near enough to communicate with those on either side of
them, by voice and eye. Michu, lying flat on his stomach, his ear to
earth, gauged, like a red Indian, by the strength of the sounds the time
that remained to him.

"I came too late!" he said to himself. "Violette shall pay dear for
this! what a time it took to make him drunk! What can be done?"

He heard the detachment that was coming through the forest reach the
iron gates and turn into the main road, where before long it would meet
the squad coming up from the other direction.

"Still five or six minutes!" he said.

At that instant the countess appeared. Michu took her with a firm hand
and pushed her into the covered way.

"Keep straight before you! Lead her to where my horse is," he said to
his wife, "and remember that gendarmes have ears."

Seeing Catherine, who carried the hat and whip, and Gothard leading the
mare, the man, keen-witted in presence of danger, bethought himself of
playing the gendarmes a trick as useful as the one he had just played
Violette. Gothard had forced the mare to mount the bank.

"Her feet muffled! I thank thee, boy," exclaimed the bailiff.

Michu let the mare follow her mistress and took the hat, gloves, and
whip from Catherine.

"You have sense, boy, you'll understand me," he said. "Force your own
horse up here, jump on him, and draw the gendarmes after you across the
fields towards the farm; get the whole squad to follow you--And you,"
he added to Catherine, "there are other gendarmes coming up on the road
from Cinq-Cygne to Gondreville; run in the opposite direction to the one
Gothard takes, and draw them towards the forest. Manage so that we shall
not be interfered with in the covered way."

Catherine and the boy, who were destined to give in this affair such
remarkable proofs of intelligence, executed the manoeuvre in a way to
make both detachments of gendarmes believe that they held the game. The
dim light of the moon prevented the pursuers from distinguishing the
figure, clothing, sex, or number of those they followed. The pursuit was
based on the maxim, "Always arrest those who are escaping,"--the folly
of which saying was, as we have seen, energetically declared by Corentin
to the corporal in command. Michu, counting on this instinct of
the gendarmes, was able to reach the forest a few moments after the
countess, whom Marthe had guided to the appointed place.

"Go home now," he said to Marthe. "The forest is watched and it is
dangerous to remain here. We need all our freedom."

Michu unfastened his horse and asked the countess to follow him.

"I shall not go a step further," said Laurence, "unless you give me some
proof of the interest you seem to have in us--for, after all, you are
Michu."

"Mademoiselle," he answered, in a gentle voice; "the part I am playing
can be explained to you in two words. I am, unknown to the Marquis de
Simeuse and his brother, the guardian of their property. On this subject
I received the last instructions of their late father and their dear
mother, my protectress. I have played the part of a virulent Jacobin to
serve my dear young masters. Unhappily, I began this course too late;
I could not save their parents." Here, Michu's voice broke down. "Since
the young men emigrated I have sent them regularly the sums they needed
to live upon."

"Through the house of Breintmayer of Strasburg?" asked the countess.

"Yes, mademoiselle; the correspondents of Monsieur Girel of Troyes, a
royalist who, like me, made himself for good reasons, a Jacobin. The
paper which your farmer picked up one evening and which I forced him
to surrender, related to the affair and would have compromised your
cousins. My life no longer belongs to me, but to them, you understand. I
could not buy in Gondreville. In my position, I should have lost my head
had the authorities known I had the money. I preferred to wait and
buy it later. But that scoundrel of a Marion was the slave of another
scoundrel, Malin. All the same, Gondreville shall once more belong
to its rightful masters. That's my affair. Four hours ago I had Malin
sighted by my gun; ha! he was almost gone then! Were he dead, the
property would be sold and you could have bought it. In case of my death
my wife would have brought you a letter which would have given you the
means of buying it. But I overheard that villain telling his accomplice
Grevin--another scoundrel like himself--that the Marquis and his brother
were conspiring against the First Consul, that they were here in the
neighborhood, and that he meant to give them up and get rid of them so
as to keep Gondreville in peace. I myself saw the police spies; I laid
aside my gun, and I have lost no time in coming here, thinking that you
must be the one to know best how to warn the young men. That's the whole
of it."

"You are worthy to be a noble," said Laurence, offering her hand to
Michu, who tried to kneel and kiss it. She saw his motion and prevented
it, saying: "Stand up!" in a tone of voice and with a look which made
him amends for all the scorn of the last twelve years.

"You reward me as though I had done all that remains for me to do," he
said. "But don't you hear them, those huzzars of the guillotine? Let us
go elsewhere."

He took the mare's bridle, and led her a little distance.

"Think only of sitting firm," he said, "and of saving your head from the
branches of the trees which might strike you in the face."

Then he mounted his own horse and guided the young girl for half an
hour at full gallop; making turns and half turns, and striking into
wood-paths, so as to confuse their traces, until they reached a spot
where he pulled up.

"I don't know where I am," said the countess looking about her,--"I, who
know the forest as well as you do."

"We are in the heart of it," he replied. "Two gendarmes are after us,
but we are quite safe."

The picturesque spot to which the bailiff had guided Laurence was
destined to be so fatal to the principal personages of this drama, and
to Michu himself, that it becomes our duty, as an historian, to describe
it. The scene became, as we shall see hereafter, one of noted interest
in the judiciary annals of the Empire.

The forest of Nodesme belonged to the monastery of Notre-Dame. That
monastery, seized, sacked, and demolished, had disappeared entirely,
monks and property. The forest, an object of much cupidity, was taken
into the domain of the Comtes de Champagne, who mortgaged it later and
allowed it to be sold. In the course of six centuries nature covered
its ruins with her rich and vigorous green mantle, and effaced them
so thoroughly that the existence of one of the finest convents was no
longer even indicated except by a slight eminence shaded by noble trees
and circled by thick, impenetrable shrubbery, which, since 1794, Michu
had taken great pains to make still more impenetrable by planting the
thorny acacia in all the slight openings between the bushes. A pond was
at the foot of the eminence and showed the existence of a hidden stream
which no doubt determined in former days the site of the monastery.
The late owner of the title to the forest of Nodesme was the first
to recognize the etymology of the name, which dated back for eight
centuries, and to discover that at one time a monastery had existed in
the heart of the forest. When the first rumblings of the thunder of the
Revolution were heard, the Marquis de Simeuse, who had been forced to
look into his title by a lawsuit and so learned the above facts as
it were by chance, began, with a secret intention not difficult to
conceive, to search for some remains of the former monastery. The
keeper, Michu, to whom the forest was well known, helped his master
in the search, and it was his sagacity as a forester which led to the
discovery of the site. Observing the trend of the five chief roads of
the forest, some of which were now effaced, he saw that they all ended
either at the little eminence or by the pond at the foot of it, to which
points travellers from Troyes, from the valley of Arcis and that of
Cinq-Cygne, and from Bar-sur-Aube doubtless came. The marquis wished
to excavate the hillock but he dared not employ the people of the
neighborhood. Pressed by circumstances, he abandoned the intention,
leaving in Michu's mind a strong conviction that the eminence had either
the treasure or the foundations of the former abbey. He continued,
all alone, this archaeological enterprise; he sounded the earth and
discovered a hollowness on the level of the pond between two trees, at
the foot of the only craggy part of the hillock.

One fine night he came to the place armed with a pickaxe, and by the
sweat of his brow uncovered a succession of cellars, which were entered
by a flight of stone steps. The pond, which was three feet deep in the
middle, formed a sort of dipper, the handle of which seemed to come from
the little eminence, and went far to prove that a spring had once issued
from the crags, and was now lost by infiltration through the forest. The
marshy shores of the pond, covered with aquatic trees, alders, willow,
and ash, were the terminus of all the wood-paths, the remains of former
roads and forest by-ways, now abandoned. The water, flowing from a
spring, though apparently stagnant, was covered with large-leaved
plants and cresses, which gave it a perfectly green surface almost
indistinguishable from the shores, which were covered with fine close
herbage. The place is too far from human habitations for any animal,
unless a wild one, to come there. Convinced that no game was in the
marsh and repelled by the craggy sides of the hills, keepers and hunters
had never explored or visited this nook, which belonged to a part of the
forest where the timber had not been cut for many years and which Michu
meant to keep in its full growth when the time came round to fell it.

At the further end of the first cellar was a vaulted chamber, clean
and dry, built with hewn stone, a sort of convent dungeon, such as they
called in monastic days the _in pace_. The salubrity of the chamber and
the preservation of this part of the staircase and of the vaults were
explained by the presence of the spring, which had been enclosed at some
time by a wall of extraordinary thickness built in brick and cement
like those of the Romans, and received all the waters. Michu closed the
entrance to this retreat with large stones; then, to keep the secret of
it to himself and make it impenetrable to others, he made a rule never
to enter it except from the wooded height above, by clambering down the
crag instead of approaching it from the pond.

Just as the fugitives arrived, the moon was casting her beautiful
silvery light on the aged tree-tops above the crag, and flickering on
the splendid foliage at the corners of the several paths, all of which
ended here, some with one tree, some with a group of trees. On all
sides the eye was irresistibly led along their vanishing perspectives,
following the curve of a wood-path or the solemn stretch of a forest
glade flanked by a wall of verdure that was nearly black. The moonlight,
filtering through the branches of the crossways, made the lonely,
tranquil waters, where they peeped between the crosses and the
lily-pads, sparkle like diamonds. The croaking of the frogs broke the
deep silence of this beautiful forest-nook, the wild odors of which
incited the soul to thoughts of liberty.

"Are we safe?" said the countess to Michu.

"Yes, mademoiselle. But we have each some work to do. Do you go and
fasten our horses to the trees at the top of the little hill; tie a
handkerchief round the mouth of each of them," he said, giving her his
cravat; "your beast and mine are both intelligent, they will understand
they are not to neigh. When you have done that, come down the crag
directly above the pond; but don't let your habit catch anywhere. You
will find me below."

While the countess hid the horses and tied and gagged them, Michu
removed the stones and opened the entrance to the caverns. The countess,
who thought she knew the forest by heart, was amazed when she descended
into the vaulted chambers. Michu replaced the stones above them with the
dexterity of a mason. As he finished, the sound of horses' feet and the
voices of the gendarmes echoed in the darkness; but he quietly struck
a match, lighted a resinous bit of wood and led the countess to the _in
pace_, where there was still a piece of the candle with which he had
first explored the caves. An iron door of some thickness, eaten in
several places by rust, had been put in good order by the bailiff, and
could be fastened securely by bars slipping into holes in the wall on
either side of it. The countess, half dead with fatigue, sat down on a
stone bench, above which there still remained an iron ring, the staple
of which was embedded in the masonry.

"We have a salon to converse in," said Michu. "The gendarmes may prowl
as much as they like; the worst they could do would be to take our
horses."

"If they do that," said Laurence, "it would be the death of my cousins
and the Messieurs d'Hauteserre. Tell me now, what do you know?"

Michu related what he had overheard Malin say to Grevin.

"They are already on the road to Paris; they were to enter it to-morrow
morning," said the countess when he had finished.

"Lost!" exclaimed Michu. "All persons entering or leaving the barriers
are examined. Malin has strong reasons to let my masters compromise
themselves; he is seeking to get them killed out of his way."

"And I, who don't know anything of the general plan of the affair,"
cried Laurence, "how can I warn Georges, Riviere, and Moreau? Where are
they?--However, let us think only of my cousins and the d'Hauteserres;
you must catch up with them, no matter what it costs."

"The telegraph goes faster than the best horse," said Michu; "and of
all the nobles concerned in this conspiracy your cousins are the closest
watched. If I can find them, they must be hidden here and kept here till
the affair is over. Their poor father may have had a foreboding when he
set me to search for this hiding-place; perhaps he felt that his sons
would be saved here."

"My mare is from the stables of the Comte d'Artois,--she is the daughter
of his finest English horse," said Laurence; "but she has already gone
sixty miles, she would drop dead before you reached them."

"Mine is in good condition," replied Michu; "and if you did sixty miles
I shall have only thirty to do."

"Nearer forty," she said, "they have been walking since dark. You will
overtake them beyond Lagny, at Coupvrai, where they expected to be at
daybreak. They are disguised as sailors, and will enter Paris by the
river on some vessel. This," she added, taking half of her mother's
wedding-ring from her finger, "is the only thing which will make them
trust you; they have the other half. The keeper of Couvrai is the father
of one of their soldiers; he has hidden them tonight in a hut in the
forest deserted by charcoal-burners. They are eight in all, Messieurs
d'Hauteserre and four others are with my cousins."

"Mademoiselle, no one is looking for the others! let them save
themselves as they can; we must think only of the Messieurs de Simeuse.
It is enough just to warn the rest."

"What! abandon the Hauteserres? never!" she said. "They must all perish
or be saved together!"

"Only petty noblemen!" remarked Michu.

"They are only chevaliers, I know that," she replied, "but they are
related to the Cinq-Cygne and Simeuse blood. Save them all, and advise
them how best to regain this forest."

"The gendarmes are here,--don't you hear them? they are holding a
council of war."

"Well, you have twice had luck to-night; go! bring my cousins here and
hide them in these vaults; they'll be safe from all pursuit--Alas! I am
good for nothing!" she cried, with rage; "I should be only a beacon to
light the enemy--but the police will never imagine that my cousins are
in the forest if they see me at my ease. So the question resolves itself
into this: how can we get five good horses to bring them in six hours
from Lagny to the forest,--five horses to be killed and hidden in some
thicket."

"And the money?" said Michu, who was thinking deeply as he listened to
the young countess.

"I gave my cousins a hundred louis this evening," she replied.

"I'll answer for them!" cried Michu. "But once hidden here you must not
attempt to see them. My wife, or the little one, shall bring them
food twice a week. But, as I can't be sure of what may happen to me,
remember, mademoiselle, in case of trouble, that the main beam in my
hay-loft has been bored with an auger. In the hole, which is plugged
with a bit of wood, you will find a plan showing how to reach this spot.
The trees which you will find marked with a red dot on the plan have a
black mark at their foot close to the earth. Each of these trees is a
sign-post. At the foot of the third old oak which stands to the left
of each sign-post, two feet in front of it and buried seven feet in the
ground, you will find a large metal tube; in each tube are one
hundred thousand francs in gold. These eleven trees--there are only
eleven--contain the whole fortune of the Simeuse brothers, now that
Gondreville has been taken from them."

"It will take a hundred years for the nobility to recover from such
blows," said Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, slowly.

"Is there a pass-word?" asked Michu.

"'France and Charles' for the soldiers, 'Laurence and Louis' for the
Messieurs d'Hauteserre and Simeuse. Good God! to think that I saw them
yesterday for the first time in eleven years, and that now they are in
danger of death--and what a death! Michu," she said, with a melancholy
look, "be as prudent during the next fifteen hours as you have been
grand and devoted during the last twelve years. If disaster were to
overtake my cousins now I should die of it--No," she added, quickly, "I
would live long enough to kill Bonaparte."

"There will be two of us to do that when all is lost," said Michu.

Laurence took his rough hand and wrung it warmly, as the English do.
Michu looked at his watch; it was midnight.

"We must leave here at any cost," he said. "Death to the gendarme who
attempts to stop me! And you, madame la comtesse, without presuming
to dictate, ride back to Cinq-Cygne as fast as you can. The police are
there by this time; fool them! delay them!"

The hole once opened, Michu flung himself down with his ear to the
earth; then he rose precipitately. "The gendarmes are at the edge of the
forest towards Troyes!" he said. "Ha, I'll get the better of them yet!"

He helped the countess to come out, and replaced the stones. When this
was done he heard her soft voice telling him she must see him mounted
before mounting herself. Tears came to the eyes of the stern man as
he exchanged a last look with his young mistress, whose own eyes were
tearless.

"Fool them! yes, he is right!" she said when she heard him no longer.
Then she darted towards Cinq-Cygne at full gallop.

CHAPTER VIII. TRIALS OF THE POLICE

Madame d'Hauteserre, roused by the danger of her sons, and not believing
that the Revolution was over, but still fearing its summary justice,
recovered her senses by the violence of the same distress which made
her lose them. Led by an agonizing curiosity she returned to the salon,
which presented a picture worthy of the brush of a genre painter. The
abbe, still seated at the card-table and mechanically playing with the
counters, was covertly observing Corentin and Peyrade, who were standing
together at a corner of the fireplace and speaking in a low voice.
Several times Corentin's keen eye met the not less keen glance of the
priest; but, like two adversaries who knew themselves equally strong,
and who return to their guard after crossing their weapons, each averted
his eyes the instant they met. The worthy old d'Hauteserre, poised on
his long thin legs like a heron, was standing beside the stout form of
the mayor, in an attitude expressive of utter stupefaction. The mayor,
though dressed as a bourgeois, always looked like a servant. Each gazed
with a bewildered eye at the gendarmes, in whose clutches Gothard was
still sobbing, his hands purple and swollen from the tightness of the
cord that bound them. Catherine maintained her attitude of artless
simplicity, which was quite impenetrable. The corporal, who, according
to Corentin, had committed a great blunder in arresting these smaller
fry, did not know whether to stay where he was or to depart. He stood
pensively in the middle of the salon, his hand on the hilt of his sabre,
his eye on the two Parisians. The Durieus, also stupefied, and the
other servants of the chateau made an admirable group of expressive
uneasiness. If it had not been for Gothard's convulsive snifflings those
present could have heard the flies fly.

When Madame d'Hauteserre, pale and terrified, opened the door and
entered the room, almost carried by Mademoiselle Goujet, whose red eyes
had evidently been weeping, all faces turned to her at once. The two
agents hoped as much as the household feared to see Laurence enter. This
spontaneous movement of both masters and servants seemed produced by
the sort of mechanism which makes a number of wooden figures perform the
same gesture or wink the same eye.

Madame d'Hauteserre advanced by three rapid strides towards Corentin and
said, in a broken voice but violently: "For pity's sake, monsieur,
tell me what my sons are accused of. Do you really think they have been
here?"

The abbe, who seemed to be saying to himself when he saw the old lady,
"She will certainly commit some folly," lowered his eyes.

"My duty and the mission I am engaged in forbid me to tell you,"
answered Corentin, with a gracious but rather mocking air.

This refusal, which the detestable politeness of the vulgar fop seemed
to make all the more emphatic, petrified the poor mother, who fell into
a chair beside the Abbe Goujet, clasped her hands and began to pray.

"Where did you arrest that blubber?" asked Corentin, addressing the
corporal and pointing to Laurence's little henchman.

"On the road that leads to the farm along the park walls; the little
scamp had nearly reached the Closeaux woods," replied the corporal.

"And that girl?"

"She? oh, it was Oliver who caught her."

"Where was she going?"

"Towards Gondreville."

"They were going in opposite directions?" said Corentin.

"Yes," replied the gendarme.

"Is that boy the groom, and the girl the maid of the citizeness
Cinq-Cygne?" said Corentin to the mayor.

"Yes," replied Goulard.

After Corentin had exchanged a few words with Peyrade in a whisper, the
latter left the room, taking the corporal of gendarmes with him.

Just then the corporal of Arcis made his appearance. He went up to
Corentin and spoke to him in a low voice: "I know these premises well,"
he said; "I have searched everywhere; unless those young fellows are
buried, they are not here. We have sounded all the floors and walls with
the butt end of our muskets."

Peyrade, who presently returned, signed to Corentin to come out, and
then took him to the breach in the moat and showed him the sunken way.

"We have guessed the trick," said Peyrade.

"And I'll tell you how it was done," added Corentin. "That little scamp
and the girl decoyed those idiots of gendarmes and thus made time for
the game to escape."

"We can't know the truth till daylight," said Peyrade. "The road is
damp; I have ordered two gendarmes to barricade it top and bottom. We'll
examine it after daylight, and find out by the footsteps who went that
way."

"I see a hoof-mark," said Corentin; "let us go to the stables."

"How many horses do you keep?" said Peyrade, returning to the salon with
Corentin, and addressing Monsieur d'Hauteserre and Goulard.

"Come, monsieur le maire, you know, answer," cried Corentin, seeing that
that functionary hesitated.

"Why, there's the countess's mare, Gothard's horse, and Monsieur
d'Hauteserre's."

"There is only one in the stable," said Peyrade.

"Mademoiselle is out riding," said Durieu.

"Does she often ride about at this time of night?" said the libertine
Peyrade, addressing Monsieur d'Hauteserre.

"Often," said the good man, simply. "Monsieur le maire can tell you
that."

"Everybody knows she has her freaks," remarked Catherine; "she looked at
the sky before she went to bed, and I think the glitter of your bayonets
in the moonlight puzzled her. She told me she wanted to know if there
was going to be another revolution."

"When did she go?" asked Peyrade.

"When she saw your guns."

"Which road did she take?"

"I don't know."

"There's another horse missing," said Corentin.

"The gendarmes--took it--away from me," said Gothard.

"Where were you going?" said one of them.

"I was--following--my mistress to the farm," sobbed the boy.

The gendarme looked towards Corentin as if expecting an order. But
Gothard's speech was evidently so true and yet so false, so perfectly
innocent and so artful that the two Parisians again looked at each other
as if to echo Peyrade's former words: "They are not ninnies."

Monsieur d'Hauteserre seemed incapable of a word; the mayor was
bewildered; the mother, imbecile from maternal fears, was putting
questions to the police agents that were idiotically innocent; the
servants had been roused from their sleep. Judging by these trifling
signs, and these diverse characters, Corentin came to the conclusion
that his only real adversary was Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne. Shrewd
and dexterous as the police may be, they are always under certain
disadvantages. Not only are they forced to discover all that is known
to a conspirator, but they must also suppose and test a great number
of things before they hit upon the right one. The conspirator is always
thinking of his own safety, whereas the police is only on duty at
certain hours. Were it not for treachery and betrayals, nothing would
be easier than to conspire successfully. The conspirator has more mind
concentrated upon himself than the police can bring to bear with all its
vast facilities of action. Finding themselves stopped short morally,
as they might be physically by a door which they expected to find open
being shut in their faces, Corentin and Peyrade saw they were tricked
and misled, without knowing by whom.

"I assert," said the corporal of Arcis, in their ear, "that if the four
young men slept here last night it must have been in the beds of their
father and mother, and Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, or those of the
servants; or they must have spent the night in the park. There is not a
trace of their presence."

"Who could have warned them?" said Corentin, to Peyrade. "No one but the
First Consul, Fouche, the ministers, the prefect of police, and Malin
knew anything about it."

"We must set spies in the neighborhood," whispered Peyrade.

"And watch the spies," said the abbe, who smiled as he overheard the
word and guessed all.

"Good God!" thought Corentin, replying to the abbe's smile with one of
his own; "there is but one intelligent being here,--he's the one to come
to an understanding with; I'll try him."

"Gentlemen--" said the mayor, anxious to give some proof of devotion to
the First Consul and addressing the two agents.

"Say 'citizens'; the Republic still exists," interrupted Corentin,
looking at the priest with a quizzical air.

"Citizens," resumed the mayor, "just as I entered this salon and before
I had opened my mouth Catherine rushed in and took her mistress's hat,
gloves, and whip."

A low murmur of horror came from the breasts of all the household except
Gothard. All eyes but those of the agent and the gendarmes were turned
threateningly on Goulard, the informer, seeming to dart flames at him.

"Very good, citizen mayor," said Peyrade. "We see it all plainly. Some
one" (this with a glance of evident distrust at Corentin) "warned the
citizeness Cinq-Cygne in time."

"Corporal, handcuff that boy," said Corentin, to the gendarme, "and take
him away by himself. And shut up that girl, too," pointing to Catherine.
"As for you, Peyrade, search for papers," adding in his ear, "Ransack
everything, spare nothing.--Monsieur l'abbe," he said, confidentially,
"I have an important communication to make to you"; and he took him into
the garden.

"Listen to me attentively, monsieur," he went on; "you seem to have the
mind of a bishop, and (no one can hear us) you will understand me. I
have no longer any hope except through you of saving these families,
who, with the greatest folly, are letting themselves roll down a
precipice where no one can save them. The Messieurs Simeuse and
d'Hauteserre have been betrayed by one of those infamous spies whom
governments introduce into all conspiracies to learn their objects,
means, and members. Don't confound me, I beg of you, with the wretch who
is with me. He belongs to the police; but I am honorably attached to
the Consular cabinet, I am therefore behind the scenes. The ruin of the
Simeuse brothers is not desired. Though Malin would like to see them
shot, the First Consul, if they are here and have come without evil
intentions, wishes them to be warned out of danger, for he likes
good soldiers. The agent who accompanies me has all the powers, I,
apparently, am nothing. But I see plainly what is hatching. The agent
is pledged to Malin, who has doubtless promised him his influence, an
office, and perhaps money if he finds the Simeuse brothers and delivers
them up. The First Consul, who is a really great man, never favors
selfish schemes--I don't want to know if those young men are here," he
added, quickly, observing the abbe's gesture, "but I wish to tell you
that there is only one way to save them. You know the law of the 6th
Floreal, year X., which amnestied all the _emigres_ who were still in
foreign countries on condition that they returned home before the 1st
Vendemiaire of the year XI., that is to say, in September of last year.
But the Messieurs Simeuse having, like the Messieurs d'Hauteserre,
served in the army of Conde, they come into the category of exceptions
to this law. Their presence in France is therefore criminal, and
suffices, under the circumstances in which we are, to make them
suspected of collusion in a horrible plot. The First Consul saw the
error of this exception which has made enemies for his government, and
he wishes the Messieurs Simeuse to know that no steps will be taken
against them, if they will send him a petition saying that they have
re-entered France intending to submit to the laws, and agreeing to take
oath to the Constitution. You can understand that the document ought to
be in my hands before they are arrested, and be dated some days earlier.
I would then be the bearer of it--I do not ask you where those young men
are," he said again, seeing another gesture of denial from the priest.
"We are, unfortunately, sure of finding them; the forest is guarded, the
entrances to Paris and the frontiers are all watched. Pray listen to me;
if these gentlemen are between the forest and Paris they must be taken;
if they are in Paris they will be found; if they retreat to the frontier
they will still be arrested. The First Consul likes the _ci-devants_,
and cannot endure the republicans--simple enough; if he wants a throne
he must needs strangle Liberty. Keep the matter a secret between us.
This is what I will do; I will stay here till to-morrow and _be blind_;
but beware of the agent; that cursed Provencal is the devil's own valet;
he has the ear of Fouche just as I have that of the First Consul."

"If the Messieurs Simeuse are here," said the abbe, "I would give ten
pints of my blood and my right arm to save them; but if Mademoiselle de
Cinq-Cygne is in the secret she has not--and this I swear on my eternal
salvation--betrayed it in any way, neither has she done me the honor to
consult me. I am now very glad of her discretion, if discretion there
be. We played cards last night as usual, at boston, in almost complete
silence, until half-past ten o'clock, and we neither saw nor heard
anything. Not a child can pass through this solitary valley without the
whole community knowing it, and for the last two weeks no one has come
from other places. Now the d'Hauteserre and the Simeuse brothers would
make a party of four. Old d'Hauteserre and his wife have submitted to
the present government, and they have made all imaginable efforts
to persuade their sons to return to France; they wrote to them again
yesterday. I can only say, upon my soul and conscience, that your visit
has alone shaken my firm belief that these young men are living in
Germany. Between ourselves, there is no one here, except the young
countess, who does not do justice to the eminent qualities of the First
Consul."

"Fox!" thought Corentin. "Well, if those young men are shot," he said,
aloud; "it is because their friends have willed it--I wash my hands of
the affair."

He had led the abbe to a part of the garden which lay in the moonlight,
and as he said the last words he looked at him suddenly. The priest
was greatly distressed, but his manner was that of a man surprised and
wholly ignorant.

"Understand this, monsieur l'abbe," resumed Corentin; "the right of
these young men to the estate of Gondreville will render them doubly
criminal in the eyes of the middle class. I'd like to see them put faith
in God and not in his saints--"

"Is there really a plot?" asked the abbe, simply.

"Base, odious, cowardly, and so contrary to the generous spirit of
the nation," replied Corentin, "that it will meet with universal
opprobrium."

"Well! Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne is incapable of baseness," cried the
abbe.

"Monsieur l'abbe," replied Corentin, "let me tell you this; there is for
us (meaning you and me) proof positive of her guilt; but there is not
enough for the law. You see she took flight when we came; I sent the
mayor to warn her."

"Yes, but for one who is so anxious to save them, you followed rather
closely on his heels," said the abbe.

At those words the two men looked at each other, and all was said.
Each belonged to those profound anatomists of thought to whom a mere
inflexion of the voice, a look, a word suffices to reveal a soul, just
as the Indians track their enemies by signs invisible to European eyes.

"I expected to draw something out of him, and I have only betrayed
myself," thought Corentin.

"Ha! the sly rogue!" thought the priest.

Midnight rang from the old church clock just as Corentin and the abbe
re-entered the salon. The opening and shutting of doors and closets
could be heard from the bedrooms above. The gendarmes pulled open the
beds; Peyrade, with the quick perception of a spy, handled and sounded
everything. Such desecration excited both fear and indignation among
the faithful servants of the house, who still stood motionless about the
salon. Monsieur d'Hauteserre exchanged looks of commiseration with his
wife and Mademoiselle Goujet. A species of horrible curiosity kept every
one on the qui vive. Peyrade at length came down, holding in his hand a
sandal-wood box which had probably been brought from China by Admiral
de Simeuse. This pretty casket was flat and about the size of a quarto
volume.

Peyrade made a sign to Corentin and took him into the embrasure of a
window.

"I've an idea!" he said, "that Michu, who was ready to pay Marion eight
hundred thousand francs in gold for Gondreville, and who evidently
meant to shoot Malin yesterday, is the man who is helping the Simeuse
brothers. His motive in threatening Marion and aiming at Malin must
be the same. I thought when I saw him that he was capable of ideas;
evidently he has but one; he discovered what was going on and he must
have come here to warn them."

"Probably Malin talked about the conspiracy to his friend the notary,
and Michu from his ambush overheard what was said," remarked Corentin,
continuing the inductions of his colleague. "No doubt he has only
postponed his shot to prevent an evil he thinks worse than the loss of
Gondreville."

"He knew what we were the moment he laid eyes on us," said Peyrade. "I
thought then that he was amazingly intelligent for a peasant."

"That proves that he is always on his guard," replied Corentin. "But,
mind you, my old man, don't let us make a mistake. Treachery stinks in
the nostrils, and primitive folks do scent it from afar."

"But that's our strength," said the Provencal.

"Call the corporal of Arcis," cried Corentin to one of the gendarmes. "I
shall send him at once to Michu's house," he added to Peyrade.

"Our ear, Violette, is there," said Peyrade.

"We started without getting news from him. Two of us are not enough;
we ought to have had Sabatier with us--Corporal," he said, when the
gendarme appeared, taking him aside with Peyrade, "don't let them fool
you as they did the Troyes corporal just now. We think Michu is in this
business. Go to his house, put your eye on everything, and bring word of
the result."

"One of my men heard horses in the forest just as they arrested the
little groom; I've four fine fellows now on the track of whoever is
hiding there," replied the gendarme.

He left the room, and the gallop of his horse which echoed on the paved
courtyard died rapidly away.

"One thing is certain," said Corentin to himself, "either they have gone
to Paris or they are retreating to Germany."

He sat down, pulled a note-book from the pocket of his spencer, wrote
two orders in pencil, sealed them, and made a sign to one of the
gendarmes to come to him.

"Be off at full gallop to Troyes, wake up the prefect, and tell him to
start the telegraph as soon as there's light enough."

The gendarme departed. The meaning of this movement and Corentin's
intentions were so evident that the hearts of the household sank within
them; but this new anxiety was additional to another that was now
martyrizing them; their eyes were fixed on the sandal-wood box! All the
while the two agents were talking together they were each taking note of
those eager looks. A sort of cold anger stirred the unfeeling hearts of
these men who relished the power of inspiring terror. The police man has
the instincts and emotions of a hunter: but where the one employs his
powers of mind and body in killing a hare, a partridge, or a deer, the
other is thinking of saving the State, or a king, and of winning a large
reward. So the hunt for men is superior to the other class of hunting
by all the distance that there is between animals and human beings.
Moreover, a spy is forced to lift the part he plays to the level and
the importance of the interests to which he is bound. Without looking
further into this calling, it is easy to see that the man who follows
it puts as much passionate ardor into his chase as another man does into
the pursuit of game. Therefore the further these men advanced in their
investigations the more eager they became; but the expression of their
faces and their eyes continued calm and cold, just as their ideas,
their suspicions, and their plans remained impenetrable. To any one who
watched the effects of the moral scent, if we may so call it, of these
bloodhounds on the track of hidden facts, and who noted and understood
the movements of canine agility which led them to strike the truth in
their rapid examination of probabilities, there was in it all something
actually horrifying. How and why should men of genius fall so low when
it was in their power to be so high? What imperfection, what vice, what
passion debases them? Does a man become a police-agent as he becomes
a thinker, writer, statesmen, painter, general, on the condition of
knowing nothing but how to spy, as the others speak, write, govern,
paint, and fight? The inhabitants of the chateau had but one wish,--that
the thunderbolts of heaven might fall upon these miscreants; they were
athirst for vengeance; and had it not been for the presence, up to this
time, of the gendarmes there would undoubtedly have been an outbreak.

"No one, I suppose, has the key of this box?" said the cynical Peyrade,
questioning the family as much by the movement of his huge red nose as
by his words.

The Provencal noticed, not without fear, that the guards were no longer
present; he and Corentin were alone with the family. The younger man
drew a small dagger from his pocket, and began to force the lock of the
box. Just then the desperate galloping of a horse was heard upon the
road and then upon the pavement by the lawn; but most horrible of all
was the fall and sighing of the animal, which seemed to drop all at
once at the door of the middle tower. A convulsion like that which
a thunderbolt might produce shook the spectators when Laurence, the
trailing of whose riding-habit announced her coming, entered the room.
The servants hastily formed into two lines to let her pass.

In spite of her rapid ride, the girl had felt the full anguish the
discovery of the conspiracy must needs cause her. All her hopes were
overthrown! she had galloped through ruins as her thoughts turned to the
necessity of submission to the Consular government. Were it not for the
danger which threatened the four gentlemen, and which served as a tonic
to conquer her weariness and her despair, she would have dropped
asleep on the way. The mare was almost killed in her haste to reach the
chateau, and stand between her cousins and death. As all present looked
at the heroic girl, pale, her features drawn, her veil aside, her whip
in her hand, standing on the threshold of the door, whence her burning
glance grasped the whole scene and comprehended it, each knew from the
almost imperceptible motion which crossed the soured and bittered face
of Corentin, that the real adversaries had met. A terrible duel was
about to begin.

Noticing the box, now in the hands of Corentin, the countess raised her
whip and sprang rapidly towards him. Striking his hands with so violent
a blow that the casket fell to the ground, she seized it, flung it into
the middle of the fire, and stood with her back to the chimney in a
threatening attitude before either of the agents recovered from their
surprise. The scorn which flamed from her eyes, her pale brow, her
disdainful lips, were even more insulting than the haughty action which
treated Corentin as though he were a venomous reptile. Old d'Hauteserre
felt himself once more a cavalier; all his blood rushed to his face, and
he grieved that he had no sword. The servants trembled for an instant
with joy. The vengeance they had called down upon these men had come.
But their joy was driven back within their souls by a terrible fear; the
gendarmes were still heard coming and going in the garrets.

The _spy_--noun of strength, under which all shades of the police are
confounded, for the public has never chosen to specify in language the
varieties of those who compose this dispensary of social remedies so
essential to all governments--the spy has this curious and magnificent
quality: he never becomes angry; he possesses the Christian humility of
a priest; his eyes are stolid with an indifference which he holds as
a barrier against the world of fools who do not understand him; his
forehead is adamant under insult; he pursues his ends like a reptile
whose carapace is fractured only by a cannonball; but (like that
reptile) he is all the more furious when the blow does reach him,
because he believed his armor invulnerable. The lash of the whip upon
his fingers was to Corentin, pain apart, the cannonball that cracked
the shell. Coming from that magnificent and noble girl, this action,
emblematic of her disgust, humiliated him, not only in the eyes of the
people about him, but in his own.

Peyrade sprang to the hearth, caught Laurence's foot, raised it, and
compelled her, out of modesty, to throw herself on the sofa, where she
had lately lain asleep. The scene, like other contrasts in human things,
was burlesque in the midst of terror. Peyrade scorched his hand as he
dashed it into the fire to seize the box; but he got it, threw it on the
floor and sat down upon it. These little actions were done with great
rapidity and without a word being uttered. Corentin, recovering from the
pain of the blow, caught Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne by both hands, and
held her.

"Do not compel me to use force against you," he said, with withering
politeness.

Peyrade's action had extinguished the fire by the natural process of
suppressing the air.

"Gendarmes! here!" he cried, still occupying his ridiculous position.

"Will you promise to behave yourself?" said Corentin, insolently,
addressing Laurence, and picking up his dagger, but not committing the
great fault of threatening her with it.

"The secrets of that box do not concern the government," she answered,
with a tinge of melancholy in her tone and manner. "When you have read
the letters it contains you will, in spite of your infamy, feel ashamed
of having read them--that is, if you can still feel shame at anything,"
she added, after a pause.

The abbe looked at her as if to say, "For God's sake, be calm!"

Peyrade rose. The bottom of the box, which had been nearly burned
through, left a mark upon the floor; the lid was scorched and the sides
gave way. The grotesque Scaevola, who had offered to the god of the
Police and Terror the seat of his apricot breeches, opened the two sides
of the box as if it had been a book, and slid three letters and two
locks of hair upon the card-table. He was about to smile at Corentin
when he perceived that the locks were of two shades of gray. Corentin
released Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne's hands and went up to the table to
read the letter from which the hair had fallen.

Laurence rose, moved to the table beside the spies, and said:--"Read it
aloud; that shall be your punishment."

As the two men continued to read to themselves, she herself read out the
following words:--

  Dear Laurence,--My husband and I have heard of your noble conduct
  on the day of our arrest. We know that you love our dear twins as
  much, almost, as we love them ourselves. Therefore it is with you
  that we leave a token which will be both precious and sad to them.
  The executioner has come to cut our hair, for we are to die in a
  few moments; he has promised to put into your hands the only
  remembrance we are able to leave to our beloved orphans. Keep
  these last remains of us and give them to our sons in happier
  days. We have kissed these locks of hair and have laid our
  blessing upon them. Our last thought will be of our sons, of you,
  and of God. Love them, Laurence.

Berthe de Cinq-Cygne. Jean de Simeuse.

Tears came to the eyes of all the household as they listened to the
letter.

Laurence looked at the agents with a petrifying glance and said, in a
firm voice:--

"You have less pity than the executioner."

Corentin quietly folded the hair in the letter, laid the letter aside on
the table, and put a box of counters on the top of it as if to prevent
its blowing away. His coolness in the midst of the general emotion was
horrible.

Peyrade unfolded the other letters.

"Oh, as for those," said Laurence, "they are very much alike. You hear
the will; you can now hear of its fulfilment. In future I shall have no
secrets from any one."

  1794, Andernach. Before the battle.

  My dear Laurence,--I love you for life, and I wish you to know it.
  But you ought also to know, in case I die, that my brother,
  Paul-Marie, loves you as much as I love you. My only consolation in
  dying would be the thought that you might some day make my brother
  your husband without being forced to see me die of jealousy--which
  must surely happen if, both of us being alive, you preferred him
  to me. After all, that preference seems natural, for he is,
  perhaps, more worthy of your love than I--

  Marie-Paul.

"Here is the other letter," she said, with the color in her cheeks.

  Andernach. Before the battle.

  My kind Laurence,--My heart is sad; but Marie-Paul has a gayer
  nature, and will please you more than I am able to do. Some day
  you will have to choose between us--well, though I love you
  passionately--

"You are corresponding with _emigres_," said Peyrade, interrupting
Laurence, and holding the letters between himself and the light to
see if they contained between the lines any treasonable writing with
invisible ink.

"Yes," replied Laurence, folding the precious letters, the paper of
which was already yellow with time. "But by virtue of what right do you
presume to violate my dwelling and my personal liberty?"

"Ah, that's the point!" cried Peyrade. "By what right, indeed!--it
is time to let you know it, beautiful aristocrat," he added, taking a
warrant from his pocket, which came from the minister of justice and
was countersigned by the minister of the interior. "See, the authorities
have their eye upon you."

"We might also ask you," said Corentin, in her ear, "by what right you
harbor in this house the assassins of the First Consul. You have applied
your whip to my hands in a manner that authorizes me to take my revenge
upon your cousins, whom I came here to save."

At the mere movement of her lips and the glance which Laurence cast upon
Corentin, the abbe guessed what that great artist was saying, and he
made her a sign to be distrustful, which no one intercepted but Goulard.
Peyrade struck the cover of the box to see if there were a double top.

"Don't break it!" she exclaimed, taking the cover from him.

She took a pin, pushed the head of one of the carved figures, and the
two halves of the top, joined by a spring, opened. In the hollow half
lay miniatures of the Messieurs de Simeuse, in the uniform of the army
of Conde, two portraits on ivory done in Germany. Corentin, who felt
himself in presence of an adversary worthy of his efforts, called
Peyrade aside into a corner of the room and conferred with him.

"How could you throw _that_ into the fire?" said the abbe, speaking to
Laurence and pointing to the letter of the marquise which enclosed the
locks of hair.

For all answer the young girl shrugged her shoulders significantly. The
abbe comprehended then that she had made the sacrifice to mislead the
agents and gain time; he raised his eyes to heaven with a gesture of
admiration.

"Where did they arrest Gothard, whom I hear crying?" she asked him, loud
enough to be overheard.

"I don't know," said the abbe.

"Did he reach the farm?"

"The farm!" whispered Peyrade to Corentin. "Let us send there."

"No," said Corentin; "that girl never trusted her cousins' safety to a
farmer. She is playing with us. Do as I tell you, so that we mayn't have
to leave here without detecting something, after committing the great
blunder of coming here at all."

Corentin stationed himself before the fire, lifting the long pointed
skirts of his coat to warm himself and assuming the air, manner, and
tone of a gentleman who was paying a visit.

"Mesdames, you can go to bed, and the servants also. Monsieur le maire,
your services are no longer needed. The sternness of our orders does
not permit us to act otherwise than as we have done; but as soon as the
walls, which seem to me rather thick, have been thoroughly examined, we
shall take our departure."

The mayor bowed to the company and retired; but neither the abbe nor
Mademoiselle Goujet stirred. The servants were too uneasy not to watch
the fate of their young mistress. Madame d'Hauteserre, who, from the
moment of Laurence's entrance, had studied her with the anxiety of a
mother, rose, took her by the arm, led her aside, and said in a low
voice, "Have you seen them?"

"Do you think I could have let your sons be under this roof without
your knowing it?" replied Laurence. "Durieu," she added, "see if it is
possible to save my poor Stella; she is still breathing."

"She must have gone a great distance," said Corentin.

"Forty miles in three hours," she answered, addressing the abbe, who
watched her with amazement. "I started at half-past nine, and it was
well past one when I returned."

She looked at the clock which said half-past two.

"So you don't deny that you have ridden forty miles?" said Corentin.

"No," she said. "I admit that my cousins, in their perfect innocence,
expected not to be excluded from the amnesty, and were on their way to
Cinq-Cygne. When I found that the Sieur Malin was plotting to injure
them, I went to warn them to return to Germany, where they will be
before the telegraph can have guarded the frontier. If I have done wrong
I shall be punished for it."

This answer, which Laurence had carefully considered, was so probable in
all its parts that Corentin's convictions were shaken. In that decisive
moment, when every soul present hung suspended, as it were, on the faces
of the two adversaries, and all eyes turned from Corentin to Laurence
and from Laurence to Corentin, again the gallop of a horse, coming from
the forest, resounded on the road and from there through the gates to
the paved courtyard. Frightful anxiety was stamped on every face.

Peyrade entered, his eyes gleaming with joy. He went hastily to Corentin
and said, loud enough for the countess to hear him: "We have caught
Michu."

Laurence, to whom the agony, fatigue, and tension of all her
intellectual faculties had given an unusual color, turned white and fell
back almost fainting on a chair. Madame Durieu, Mademoiselle Goujet,
and Madame d'Hauteserre sprang to help her, for she was suffocating. She
signed to cut the frogging of her habit.

"Duped!" said Corentin to Peyrade. "I am certain now they are on their
way to Paris. Change the orders."

They left the room and the house, placing one gendarme on guard at the
door of the salon. The infernal cleverness of the two men had gained
a terrible advantage by taking Laurence in the trap of a not uncommon
trick.

CHAPTER IX. FOILED

At six o'clock in the morning, as day was dawning, Corentin and Peyrade
returned. Having explored the covered way they were satisfied that
horses had passed through it to reach the forest. They were now awaiting
the report of the captain of gendarmerie sent to reconnoitre the
neighborhood. Leaving the chateau in charge of a corporal, they went
to the tavern at Cinq-Cygne to get their breakfast, giving orders that
Gothard, who never ceased to reply to all questions with a burst of
tears, should be set at liberty, also Catherine, who still continued
silent and immovable. Catherine and Gothard went to the salon to kiss
the hands of their mistress, who lay exhausted on the sofa; Durieu also
went in to tell her that Stella would recover, but needed great care.

The mayor, uneasy and inquisitive, met Peyrade and Corentin in the
village. He declared that he could not allow such important officials to
breakfast in a miserable tavern, and he took them to his own house. The
abbey was only three quarters of a mile distant. On the way, Peyrade
remarked that the corporal of Arcis had sent no news of Michu or of
Violette.

"We are dealing with very able people," said Corentin; "they are
stronger than we. The priest no doubt has a finger in all this."

Just as the mayor's wife was ushering her guests into a vast dining-room
(without any fire) the lieutenant of gendarmes arrived with an anxious
air.

"We met the horse of the corporal of Arcis in the forest without his
master," he said to Peyrade.

"Lieutenant," cried Corentin, "go instantly to Michu's house and find
out what is going on there. They must have murdered the corporal."

This news interfered with the mayor's breakfast. Corentin and Peyrade
swallowed their food with the rapidity of hunters halting for a meal,
and drove back to the chateau in their wicker carriage, so as to be
ready to start at the first call for any point where their presence
might be necessary. When the two men reappeared in the salon into which
they had brought such trouble, terror, grief, and anxiety, they found
Laurence, in a dressing-gown, Monsieur d'Hauteserre and his wife, the
abbe and his sister, sitting round the fire, to all appearance tranquil.

"If they had caught Michu," Laurence told herself, "they would have
brought him with them. I have the mortification of knowing that I was
not the mistress of myself, and that I threw some light upon the matter
for those wretches; but the harm can be undone--How long are we to be
your prisoners?" she asked sarcastically, with an easy manner.

"How can she know anything about Michu? No one from the outside has got
near the chateau; she is laughing at us," said the two agents to each
other by a look.

"We shall not inconvenience you long," replied Corentin. "In three hours
from now we shall offer our regrets for having troubled your solitude."

No one replied. This contemptuous silence redoubled Corentin's inward
rage. Laurence and the abbe (the two minds of their little world) had
talked the man over and drawn their conclusions. Gothard and Catherine
had set the breakfast-table near the fire and the abbe and his sister
were sharing the meal. Neither masters nor servants paid the slightest
attention to the two spies, who walked up and down the garden, the
courtyard or the lawn, returning every now and then to the salon.

At half-past two the lieutenant reappeared.

"I found the corporal," he said to Corentin, "lying in the road which
leads from the pavilion of Cinq-Cygne to the farm at Bellache. He has
no wound, only a bad contusion of the head, caused, apparently, by his
fall. He told me he had been lifted suddenly off his horse and flung
so violently to the ground that he could not discover how the thing was
done. His feet left the stirrups, which was lucky, for he might have
been killed by the horse dragging him. We put him in charge of Michu and
Violette--"

"Michu! is Michu in his own house?" said Corentin, glancing at Laurence.

The countess smiled ironically, like a woman obtaining her revenge.

"He is bargaining with Violette about the sale of some land," said the
lieutenant. "They seemed to me drunk; and it's no wonder, for they have
been drinking all night and discussing the matter, and they haven't come
to terms yet."

"Did Violette tell you so?" cried Corentin.

"Yes," said the lieutenant.

"Nothing is right if we don't attend to it ourselves!" cried Peyrade,
looking at Corentin, who doubted the lieutenant's news as much as the
other did.

"At what hour did you get to Michu's house?" asked Corentin, noticing
that the countess had glanced at the clock.

"About two," replied the lieutenant.

Laurence covered Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre and the abbe and his
sister in one comprehensive glance, which made them fancy they were
wrapped in an azure mantle; triumph sparkled in her eyes, she blushed,
and the tears welled up beneath her lids. Strong under all misfortunes,
the girl knew not how to weep except from joy. At this moment she was
all glorious, especially to the priest, who was sometimes distressed
by the virility of her character, and who now caught a glimpse of the
infinite tenderness of her woman's nature. But such feelings lay in her
soul like a treasure hidden at a great depth beneath a block of granite.

Just then a gendarme entered the salon to ask if he might bring in
Michu's son, sent by his father to speak to the gentlemen from Paris.
Corentin gave an affirmative nod. Francois Michu, a sly little chip of
the old block, was in the courtyard, where Gothard, now at liberty, got
a chance to speak to him for an instant under the eyes of a gendarme.
The little fellow managed to slip something into Gothard's hand without
being detected, and the latter glided into the salon after him till he
reached his mistress, to whom he stealthily conveyed both halves of
the wedding-ring, a sure sign, she knew, that Michu had met the four
gentlemen and put them in safety.

"My papa wants to know what he's to do with the corporal, who ain't
doing well," said Francois.

"What's the matter with him?" asked Peyrade.

"It's his head--he pitched down hard on the ground," replied the boy.
"For a gindarme who knows how to ride it was bad luck--I suppose the
horse stumbled. He's got a hole--my! as big as your fist--in the back of
his head. Seems as if he must have hit some big stone, poor man! He may
be a gindarme, but he suffers all the same--you'd pity him."

The captain of the gendarmerie now arrived and dismounted in the
courtyard. Corentin threw up the window, not to lose time.

"What has been done?"

"We are back like the Dutchmen! We found nothing but five dead horses,
their coats stiff with sweat, in the middle of the forest. I have kept
them to find out where they came from and who owns them. The forest is
surrounded; whoever is in it can't get out."

"At what hour do you suppose those horsemen entered the forest?"

"About half-past twelve."

"Don't let a hare leave that forest without your seeing it," whispered
Corentin. "I'll station Peyrade at the village to help you; I am going
to see the corporal myself--Go to the mayor's house," he added, still
whispering, to Peyrade. "I'll send some able man to relieve you. We
shall have to make use of the country-people; examine all faces." He
turned towards the family and said in a threatening tone, "Au revoir!"

No one replied, and the two agents left the room.

"What would Fouche say if he knew we had made a domiciliary visit
without getting any results?" remarked Peyrade as he helped Corentin
into the osier vehicle.

"It isn't over yet," replied the other, "those four young men are in the
forest. Look there!" and he pointed to Laurence who was watching them
from a window. "I once revenged myself on a woman who was worth a dozen
of that one and had stirred my bile a good deal less. If this girl comes
in the way of my hatchet I'll pay her for the lash of that whip."

"The other was a strumpet," said Peyrade; "this one has rank."

"What difference is that to me? All's fish that swims in the sea,"
replied Corentin, signing to the gendarme who drove him to whip up.

Ten minutes later the chateau de Cinq-Cygne was completely evacuated.

"How did they get rid of the corporal?" said Laurence to Francois Michu,
whom she had ordered to sit down and eat some breakfast.

"My father told me it was a matter of life and death and I mustn't let
anybody get into our house," replied the boy. "I knew when I heard the
horses in the forest that I'd got to do with them hounds of gindarmes,
and I meant to keep 'em from getting in. So I took some big ropes that
were in my garret and fastened one of 'em to a tree at the corner of
the road. Then I drew the rope high enough to hit the breast of a man
on horseback, and tied it to the tree on the opposite side of the way in
the direction where I heard the horses. That barred the road. It didn't
miss fire, I can tell you! There was no moon, and the corporal just
pitched!--but he wasn't killed; they're tough, them gindarmes! I did
what I could."

"You have saved us!" said Laurence, kissing him as she took him to
the gate. When there, she looked about her and seeing no one she said
cautiously, "Have they provisions?"

"I have just taken them twelve pounds of bread and four bottles of
wine," said the boy. "They'll be snug for a week."

Returning to the salon, the girl was beset with mute questions in the
eyes of all, each of whom looked at her with as much admiration as
eagerness.

"But have you really seen them?" cried Madame d'Hauteserre.

The countess put a finger on her lips and smiled; then she left the room
and went to bed; her triumph sure, utter weariness had overtaken her.

The shortest road from Cinq-Cygne to Michu's lodge was that which led
from the village past the farm at Bellache to the _rond-point_ where
the Parisian spies had first seen Michu on the preceding evening. The
gendarme who was driving Corentin took this way, which was the one the
corporal of Arcis had taken. As they drove along, the agent was on the
look-out for signs to show why the corporal had been unhorsed. He blamed
himself for having sent but one man on so important an errand, and he
drew from this mistake an axiom for the police Code, which he afterwards
applied.

"If they have got rid of the corporal," he said to himself, "they have
done as much by Violette. Those five horses have evidently brought
the four conspirators and Michu from the neighborhood of Paris to the
forest. Has Michu a horse?" he inquired of the gendarme who was driving
him and who belonged to the squad from Arcis.

"Yes, and a famous little horse it is," answered the man, "a hunter
from the stables of the ci-devant Marquis de Simeuse. There's no better
beast, though it is nearly fifteen years old. Michu can ride him fifty
miles and he won't turn a hair. He takes mighty good care of him and
wouldn't sell him at any price."

"What does the horse look like?"

"He's brown, turning rather to black; white stockings above the hoofs,
thin, all nerves like an Arab."

"Did you ever see an Arab?"

"In Egypt--last year. I've ridden the horses of the mamelukes. We have
to serve twelve years in the cavalry, and I was on the Rhine under
General Steingel, after that in Italy, and then I followed the First
Consul to Egypt. I'll be a corporal soon."

"When I get to Michu's house go to the stable; if you have served twelve
years in the cavalry you know when a horse is blown. Let me know the
condition of Michu's beast."

"See! that's where our corporal was thrown," said the man, pointing to a
spot where the road they were following entered the _rond-point_.

"Tell the captain to come and pick me up at Michu's, and I'll go with
him to Troyes."

So saying Corentin got down, and stood about for a few minutes examining
the ground. He looked at the two elms which faced each other,--one
against the park wall, the other on the bank of the _rond-point_; then
he saw (what no one had yet noticed) the button of a uniform lying in
the dust, and he picked it up. Entering the lodge he saw Violette and
Michu sitting at the table in the kitchen and talking eagerly. Violette
rose, bowed to Corentin, and offered him some wine.

"Thank you, no; I came to see the corporal," said the young man, who saw
with half a glance that Violette had been drunk all night.

"My wife is nursing him upstairs," said Michu.

"Well, corporal, how are you?" said Corentin who had run up the stairs
and found the gendarme with his head bandaged, and lying on Madame
Michu's bed; his hat, sabre, and shoulder-belt on a chair.

Marthe, faithful in her womanly instincts, and knowing nothing of her
son's prowess, was giving all her care to the corporal, assisted by her
mother.

"We expect Monsieur Varlet the doctor from Arcis," she said to Corentin;
"our servant-lad has gone to fetch him."

"Leave us alone for a moment," said Corentin, a good deal surprised at
the scene, which amply proved the innocence of the two women. "Where
were you struck?" he asked the man, examining his uniform.

"On the breast," replied the corporal.

"Let's see your belt," said Corentin.

On the yellow band with a white edge, which a recent regulation had
made part of the equipment of the guard now called National, was a metal
plate a good deal like that of the foresters, on which the law required
the inscription of these remarkable words: "Respect to persons and
to properties." Francois's rope had struck the belt and defaced it.
Corentin took up the coat and found the place where the button he had
picked up upon the road belonged.

"What time did they find you?" asked Corentin.

"About daybreak."

"Did they bring you up here at once?" said Corentin, noticing that the
bed had not been slept in.

"Yes."

"Who brought you up?"

"The women and little Michu, who found me unconscious."

"So!" thought Corentin: "evidently they didn't go to bed. The corporal
was not shot at, nor struck by any weapon, for an assailant must have
been at his own height to strike a blow. Something, some obstacle, was
in his way and that unhorsed him. A piece of wood? not possible! an iron
chain? that would have left marks. What did you feel?" he said aloud.

"I was knocked over so suddenly--"

"The skin is rubbed off under your chin," said Corentin quickly.

"I think," said the corporal, "that a rope did go over my face."

"I have it!" cried Corentin; "somebody tied a rope from tree to tree to
bar the way."

"Like enough," replied the corporal.

Corentin went downstairs to the kitchen.

"Come, you old rascal," Michu was saying to Violette, "let's make an end
of this. One hundred thousand francs for the place, and you are master
of my whole property. I shall retire on my income."

"I tell you, as there's a God in heaven, I haven't more than sixty
thousand."

"But don't I offer you time to pay the rest? You've kept me here since
yesterday, arguing it. The land is in prime order."

"Yes, the soil is good," said Violette.

"Wife, some more wine," cried Michu.

"Haven't you drunk enough?" called down Marthe's mother. "This is the
fourteenth bottle since nine o'clock yesterday."

"You have been here since nine o'clock this morning, haven't you?" said
Corentin to Violette.

"No, beg your pardon, since last night I haven't left the place, and
I've gained nothing after all; the more he makes me drink the more he
puts up the price."

"In all markets he who raises his elbow raises a price," said Corentin.

A dozen empty bottles ranged along the table proved the truth of the old
woman's words. Just then the gendarme who had driven him made a sign to
Corentin, who went to the door to speak to him.

"There is no horse in the stable," said the man.

"You sent your boy on horseback to the chateau, didn't you?" said
Corentin, returning to the kitchen. "Will he be back soon?"

"No, monsieur," said Michu, "he went on foot."

"What have you done with your horse, then?"

"I have lent him," said Michu, curtly.

"Come out here, my good fellow," said Corentin; "I've a word for your
ear."

Corentin and Michu left the house.

"The gun which you were loading yesterday at four o'clock you meant to
use in murdering the Councillor of State; but we can't take you up for
that--plenty of intention, but no witnesses. You managed, I don't know
how, to stupefy Violette, and you and your wife and that young rascal
of yours spent the night out of doors to warn Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne
and save her cousins, whom you are hiding here,--though I don't as
yet know where. Your son or your wife threw the corporal off his horse
cleverly enough. Well, you've got the better of us just now; you're a
devil of a fellow. But the end is not yet, and you won't have the last
word. Hadn't you better compromise? your masters would be the better for
it."

"Come this way, where we can talk without being overheard," said Michu,
leading the way through the park to the pond.

When Corentin saw the water he looked fixedly at Michu, who was no doubt
reckoning on his physical strength to fling the spy into seven feet of
mud below three feet of water. Michu replied with a look that was
not less fixed. The scene was absolutely as if a cold and flabby boa
constrictor had defied one of those tawny, fierce leopards of Brazil.

"I am not thirsty," said Corentin, stopping short at the edge of the
field and putting his hand into his pocket to feel for his dagger.

"We shall never come to terms," said Michu, coldly.

"Mind what you're about, my good fellow; the law has its eye upon you."

"If the law can't see any clearer than you, there's danger to every
one," said the bailiff.

"Do you refuse?" said Corentin, in a significant tone.

"I'd rather have my head cut off a thousand times, if that could be
done, than come to an agreement with such a villain as you."

Corentin got into his vehicle hastily, after one more comprehensive look
at Michu, the lodge, and Couraut, who barked at him. He gave certain
orders in passing through Troyes, and then returned to Paris. All the
brigades of gendarmerie in the neighborhood received secret instructions
and special orders.

During the months of December, January, and February the search was
active and incessant, even in remote villages. Spies were in all the
taverns. Corentin learned some important facts: a horse like that of
Michu had been found dead in the neighborhood of Lagny; the five horses
burned in the forest of Nodesme had been sold, for five hundred francs
each, by farmers and millers to a man who answered to the description of
Michu. When the decree against the accomplices and harborers of Georges
was put in force Corentin confined his search to the forest of Nodesme.
After Moreau, the royalists, and Pichegru were arrested no strangers
were ever seen about the place.

Michu lost his situation at that time; the notary of Arcis brought him a
letter in which Malin, now made senator, requested Grevin to settle all
accounts with the bailiff and dismiss him. Michu asked and obtained a
formal discharge and became a free man. To the great astonishment of the
neighborhood he went to live at Cinq-Cygne, where Laurence made him
the farmer of all the reserved land about the chateau. The day of his
installation as farmer coincided with the fatal day of the death of the
Duc d'Enghien, when nearly the whole of France heard at the same time
of the arrest, trial, condemnation, and death of the prince,--terrible
reprisals, which preceded the trial of Polignac, Riviere, and Moreau.

PART II.

CHAPTER X. ONE AND THE SAME, YET A TWO-FOLD LOVE

While the new farm-house was being built Michu the Judas, so-called, and
his family occupied the rooms over the stables at Cinq-Cygne on the side
of the chateau next to the famous breach. He bought two horses, one
for himself and one for Francois, and they both joined Gothard in
accompanying Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne in her many rides, which had for
their object, as may well be imagined, the feeding of the four gentlemen
and perpetual watching that they were still in safety. Francois and
Gothard, assisted by Couraut and the countess's dogs, went in front and
beat the woods all around the hiding-place to make sure that there was
no one within sight. Laurence and Michu carried the provisions which
Marthe, her mother, and Catherine prepared, unknown to the other
servants of the household so as to restrict the secret to themselves,
for all were sure that there were spies in the village. These
expeditions were never made oftener than twice a week and on different
days and at different hours, sometimes by day, sometimes by night.

These precautions lasted until the trial of Riviere, Polignac, and
Moreau ended. When the senatus-consultum, which called the dynasty of
Bonaparte to the throne and nominated Napoleon as Emperor of the French,
was submitted to the French people for acceptance Monsieur d'Hauteserre
signed the paper Goulard brought him. When it was made known that
the Pope would come to France to crown the Emperor, Mademoiselle de
Cinq-Cygne no longer opposed the general desire that her cousins and the
young d'Hauteserres should petition to have their names struck off
the list of _emigres_, and be themselves reinstated in their rights
as citizens. On this, old d'Hauteserre went to Paris and consulted the
ci-devant Marquis de Chargeboeuf who knew Talleyrand. That minister,
then in favor, conveyed the petition to Josephine, and Josephine gave it
to her husband, who was addressed as Emperor, Majesty, Sire, before the
result of the popular vote was known. Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, Monsieur
d'Hauteserre, and the Abbe Goujet, who also went to Paris, obtained an
interview with Talleyrand, who promised them his support. Napoleon had
already pardoned several of the principal actors in the great royalist
conspiracy; and yet, though the four gentlemen were merely suspected of
complicity, the Emperor, after a meeting of the Council of State, called
the senator Malin, Fouche, Talleyrand, Cambaceres, Lebrun, and Dubois,
prefect of police, into his cabinet.

"Gentlemen," said the future Emperor, who still wore the dress of
the First Consul, "we have received from the Sieurs de Simeuse and
d'Hauteserre, officers in the army of the Prince de Conde, a request to
be allowed to re-enter France."

"They are here now," said Fouche.

"Like many others whom I meet in Paris," remarked Talleyrand.

"I think you have not met these gentlemen," said Malin, "for they are
hidden in the forest of Nodesme, where they consider themselves at
home."

He was careful not to tell the First Consul and Fouche how he himself
had given them warning, by talking with Grevin within hearing of Michu,
but he made the most of Corentin's reports and convinced Napoleon that
the four gentlemen were sharers in the plot of Riviere and Polignac,
with Michu for an accomplice. The prefect of police confirmed these
assertions.

"But how could that bailiff know that the conspiracy was discovered?"
said the prefect, "for the Emperor and the council and I were the only
persons in the secret."

No one paid attention to this remark.

"If they have been hidden in that forest for the last seven months and
you have not been able to find them," said the Emperor to Fouche, "they
have expiated their misdeeds."

"Since they are my enemies as well," said Malin, frightened by the
Emperor's clear-sightedness, "I desire to follow the magnanimous example
of your Majesty; I therefore make myself their advocate and ask that
their names be stricken from the list of _emigres_."

"They will be less dangerous to you here than if they are exiled; for
they will now have to swear allegiance to the Empire and the laws," said
Fouche, looking at Malin fixedly.

"In what way are they dangerous to the senator?" asked Napoleon.

Talleyrand spoke to the Emperor for some minutes in a low voice. The
reinstatement of the Messieurs de Simeuse and d'Hauteserre appeared to
be granted.

"Sire," said Fouche, "rely upon it, you will hear of those men again."

Talleyrand, who had been urged by the Duc de Grandlieu, gave the Emperor
pledges in the name of the young men on their honor as gentlemen (a term
which had great fascination for Napoleon), to abstain from all attacks
upon his Majesty and to submit themselves to his government in good
faith.

"Messieurs d'Hauteserre and de Simeuse are not willing to bear arms
against France, now that events have taken their present course," he
said, aloud; "they have little sympathy, it is true, with the Imperial
government, but they are just the men that your Majesty ought to
conciliate. They will be satisfied to live on French soil and obey the
laws."

Then he laid before the Emperor a letter he had received from the
brothers in which these sentiments were expressed.

"Anything so frank is likely to be sincere," said the Emperor, returning
the letter and looking at Lebrun and Cambaceres. "Have you any further
suggestions?" he asked of Fouche.

"In your Majesty's interests," replied the future minister of police, "I
ask to be allowed to inform these gentlemen of their reinstatement--when
it is _really granted_," he added, in a louder tone.

"Very well," said Napoleon, noticing an anxious look on Fouche's face.

The matter did not seem positively decided when the Council rose; but it
had the effect of putting into Napoleon's mind a vague distrust of the
four young men. Monsieur d'Hauteserre, believing that all was gained,
wrote a letter announcing the good news. The family at Cinq-Cygne were
therefore not surprised when, a few days later, Goulard came to inform
the countess and Madame d'Hauteserre that they were to send the four
gentlemen to Troyes, where the prefect would show them the decree
reinstating them in their rights and administer to them the oath of
allegiance to the Empire and the laws. Laurence replied that she would
send the notification to her cousins and the Messieurs d'Hauteserre.

"Then they are not here?" said Goulard.

Madame d'Hauteserre looked anxiously after Laurence, who left the room
to consult Michu. Michu saw no reason why the young men should not be
released at once from their hiding-place. Laurence, Michu, his son, and
Gothard therefore started as soon as possible for the forest, taking
an extra horse, for the countess resolved to accompany her cousins to
Troyes and return with them. The whole household, made aware of the
good news, gathered on the lawn to witness the departure of the happy
cavalcade. The four young men issued from their long confinement,
mounted their horses, and took the road to Troyes, accompanied by
Mademoiselle Cinq-Cygne. Michu, with the help of his son and Gothard,
closed the entrance to the cellar, and started to return home on foot.
On the way he recollected that he had left the forks and spoons and a
silver cup, which the young men had been using, in the cave, and he
went back for them alone. When he reached the edge of the pond he
heard voices, and went straight to the entrance of the cave through the
brushwood.

"Have you come for your silver?" said Peyrade, showing his big red nose
through the branches.

Without knowing why, for at any rate his young masters were safe, Michu
felt a sharp agony in all his joints, so keen was the sense of vague,
indefinable coming evil which took possession of him; but he went
forward at once, and found Corentin on the stairs with a taper in his
hand.

"We are not very harsh," he said to Michu; "we might have seized
your ci-devants any day for the last week; but we knew they were
reinstated--You're a tough fellow to deal with, and you gave us too
much trouble not to make us anxious to satisfy our curiosity about this
hiding-place of yours."

"I'd give something," cried Michu, "to know how and by whom we have been
sold."

"If that puzzles you, old fellow," said Peyrade, laughing, "look at your
horses' shoes, and you'll see that you betrayed yourselves."

"Well, there need be no rancor!" said Corentin, whistling for the
captain of gendarmerie and their horses.

"So that rascally Parisian blacksmith who shoed the horses in the
English fashion and left Cinq-Cygne only the other day was their spy!"
thought Michu. "They must have followed our tracks when the ground was
damp. Well, we're quits now!"

Michu consoled himself by thinking that the discovery was of no
consequence, as the young men were now safe, Frenchmen once more, and at
liberty. Yet his first presentiment was a true one. The police, like the
Jesuits, have the one virtue of never abandoning their friends or their
enemies.

Old d'Hauteserre returned from Paris and was more than surprised not to
be the first to bring the news. Durieu prepared a succulent dinner,
the servants donned their best clothes, and the household impatiently
awaited the exiles, who arrived about four o'clock, happy,--and yet
humiliated, for they found they were to be under police surveillance for
two years, obliged to present themselves at the prefecture every month
and ordered to remain in the commune of Cinq-Cygne during the said two
years. "I'll send you the papers for signature," the prefect said to
them. "Then, in the course of a few months, you can ask to be relieved
of these conditions, which are imposed on all of Pichegru's accomplices.
I will back your request."

These restrictions, fairly deserved, rather dispirited the young men,
but Laurence laughed at them.

"The Emperor of the French," she said, "was badly brought up; he has not
yet acquired the habit of bestowing favors graciously."

The party found all the inhabitants of the chateau at the gates, and a
goodly proportion of the people of the village waiting on the road to
see the young men, whose adventures had made them famous throughout the
department. Madame d'Hauteserre held her sons to her breast for a long
time, her face covered with tears; she was unable to speak and remained
silent, though happy, through a part of the evening. No sooner had the
Simeuse twins dismounted than a cry of surprise arose on all sides,
caused by their amazing resemblance,--the same look, the same voice,
the same actions. They both had the same movement in rising from their
saddles, in throwing their leg over the crupper of their horses when
dismounting, in flinging the reins upon the animal's neck. Their dress,
precisely the same, contributed to this likeness. They wore boots _a la_
Suwaroff, made to fit the instep, tight trousers of white leather, green
hunting-jackets with metal buttons, black cravats, and buckskin gloves.
The two young men, just thirty-one years of age, were--to use a term in
vogue in those days--charming cavaliers, of medium height but well set
up, brilliant eyes with long lashes, floating in liquid like those of
children, black hair, noble brows, and olive skin. Their speech, gentle
as that of a woman, fell graciously from their fresh red lips; their
manners, more elegant and polished than those of the provincial
gentlemen, showed that knowledge of men and things had given them that
supplementary education which makes its possessor a man of the world.

Not lacking money, thanks to Michu, during their emigration, they had
been able to travel and be received at foreign courts. Old d'Hauteserre
and the abbe thought them rather haughty; but in their present position
this may have been the sign of nobility of character. They possessed all
the eminent little marks of a careful education, to which they added a
wonderful dexterity in bodily exercises. Their only dissimilarity was
in the region of ideas. The youngest charmed others by his gaiety, the
eldest by his melancholy; but the contrast, which was purely spiritual,
was not at first observable.

"Ah, wife," whispered Michu in Marthe's ear, "how could one help
devoting one's self to those young fellows?"

Marthe, who admired them as a wife and mother, nodded her head prettily
and pressed her husband's hand. The servants were allowed to kiss their
new masters.

During their seven months' seclusion in the forest (which the young
men had brought upon themselves) they had several times committed the
imprudence of taking walks about their hiding-place, carefully guarded
by Michu, his son, and Gothard. During these walks, taken usually on
starlit nights, Laurence, reuniting the thread of their past and present
lives, felt the utter impossibility of choosing between the brothers. A
pure and equal love for each divided her heart. She fancied indeed
that she had two hearts. On their side, the brothers dared not speak to
themselves of their impending rivalry. Perhaps all three were trusting
to time and accident. The condition of her mind on this subject acted
no doubt upon Laurence as they entered the house, for she hesitated a
moment, and then took an arm of each as she entered the salon followed
by Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre, who were occupied with their sons.
Just then a cheer burst from the servants, "Long live the Cinq-Cygne
and the Simeuse families!" Laurence turned round, still between the
brothers, and made a charming gesture of acknowledgement.

When these nine persons came to actually observe each other,--for in
all meetings, even in the bosom of families, there comes a moment when
friends observe those from whom they have been long parted,--the first
glance which Adrien d'Hauteserre cast upon Laurence seemed to his
mother and to the abbe to betray love. Adrien, the youngest of the
d'Hauteserres, had a sweet and tender soul; his heart had remained
adolescent in spite of the catastrophes which had nerved the man. Like
many young heroes, kept virgin in spirit by perpetual peril, he was
daunted by the timidities of youth. In this he was very different
from his brother, a man of rough manners, a great hunter, an intrepid
soldier, full of resolution, but coarse in fibre and without activity
of mind or delicacy in matters of the heart. One was all soul, the other
all action; and yet they both possessed in the same degree that sense of
honor which is the vital essence of a gentleman. Dark, short, slim
and wiry, Adrien d'Hauteserre gave an impression of strength; whereas
Robert, who was tall, pale and fair, seemed weakly. Adrien, nervous in
temperament, was stronger in soul; while his brother though
lymphatic, was fonder of bodily exercise. Families often present these
singularities of contrast, the causes of which it might be interesting
to examine; but they are mentioned here merely to explain how it was
that Adrien was not likely to find a rival in his brother. Robert's
affection for Laurence was that of a relation, the respect of a
noble for a girl of his own caste. In matters of sentiment the elder
d'Hauteserre belonged to the class of men who consider woman as
an appendage to man, limiting her sphere to the physical duties of
maternity; demanding perfection in that respect, but regarding her
mentally as of no account. To such men the admittance of woman as an
actual sharer in society, in the body politic, in the family, meant the
subversion of the social system. In these days we are so far removed
from this theory of primitive people that almost all women, even those
who do not desire the fatal emancipation offered by the new sects, will
be shocked in merely hearing of it; but it must be owned that Robert
d'Hauteserre had the misfortune to think in that way. Robert was a man
of the middle-ages, Adrien a man of to-day. These differences instead of
hindering their affection had drawn its bonds the closer. On the first
evening after the return of the young men these shades of character
were caught and understood by the abbe, Mademoiselle Goujet, and Madame
d'Hauteserre, who, while playing their boston, were secretly foreseeing
the difficulties of the future.

At twenty-three years of age, having passed through the many reflections
of a long solitude and the anguish of a defeated enterprise, Laurence
had become a woman, and felt within her an absorbing desire for
affection. She now put forth all her graces of her mind and was
charming; she revealed the hidden beauties of her tender heart with the
simple candor of a child. For the last thirteen years she had been a
woman only through suffering; she longed to obtain amends for it, and
she showed herself as loving and winning as she had been, up to this
time, strong and great.

The four elders, who were the last to leave the salon that night,
admitted to each other that they felt uneasy at the new position of this
charming girl. What power might not passion have on a young woman of
her character and with her nobility of soul? The twin brothers loved her
with one and the same love and a blind devotion; which of the two would
Laurence choose? To choose one was to kill the other. Countess in her
own right, she could bring her husband a title and certain prerogatives,
together with a long lineage. Perhaps in thinking of these advantages
the elder of the twins, the Marquis de Simeuse, would sacrifice himself
to give Laurence to his brother, who, according to the old laws, was
poor and without a title. But would the younger brother deprive the
elder of the happiness of having Laurence for a wife? At a distance,
this strife of love and generosity might do no harm,--in fact, so long
as the brothers were facing danger the chances of war might end
the difficulty; but what would be the result of this reunion? When
Marie-Paul and Paul-Marie reached the age when passions rise to their
greatest height could they share, as now, the looks and words and
attentions of their cousin? must there not inevitably arise a jealousy
between them the consequences of which might be horrible? What would
then become of the unity of those beautiful lives, one in heart though
twain in body? To these questionings, passed from one to another as they
finished their game, Madame d'Hauteserre replied that in her opinion
Laurence would not marry either of her cousins. The poor lady had
experienced that evening one of those inexplicable presentiments which
are secrets between the mother's heart and God.

Laurence, in her inward consciousness, was not less alarmed at finding
herself tete-a-tete with her cousins. To the active drama of conspiracy,
to the dangers which the brothers had incurred, to the pain and
penalties of their exile, was now succeeding another sort of drama, of
which she had never thought. This noble girl could not resort to the
violent means of refusing to marry either of the twins; and she was too
honest a woman to marry one and keep an irresistible passion for the
other in her heart. To remain unmarried, to weary her cousins' love by
no decision, and then to take the one who was faithful to her in spite
of her caprices, was a solution of the difficulty not so much sought
for by her as vaguely admitted. As she fell asleep that night she told
herself the wisest course to follow was to let things take their chance.
Chance is, in love, the providence of women.

The next morning Michu went to Paris, whence he returned a few days
later with four fine horses for his new masters. In six weeks' time the
hunting would begin, and the young countess sagely reflected that
the violent excitements of that exercise would be a help against the
tete-a-tetes of the chateau. At first, however, an unexpected result
surprised the spectators of these strange loves and roused their
admiration. Without any premeditated agreement the brothers rivalled
each other in attentions to Laurence, with a sense of pleasure in so
doing which appeared to suffice them. The relation between themselves
and Laurence was just as fraternal as that between themselves. What
could be more natural? After so long an absence they felt the necessity
of studying her, of knowing her well and letting her know them, leaving
to her the right of choice. They were sustained in this first trial by
the mutual affection which made their double life one and the same life.

Love, like their own mother, was unable to distinguish between the
brothers. Laurence was obliged (in order to know them apart and make no
mistakes) to give them different cravats--to the elder a white one, to
the younger black. Without this perfect resemblance, this identity of
life, which misled all about them, such a situation would be justly
thought impossible. It can, indeed, be explained only by the fact
itself, which is one of those which men do not believe in unless they
see them; and then the mind is more bewildered by having to explain them
than by the actual sight which caused belief. If Laurence spoke, her
voice echoed in two hearts equally faithful and loving with one tone.
Did she give utterance to an intelligent, or witty, or noble thought,
her glance encountered the delight expressed in two glances which
followed her every movement, interpreted her slightest wish, and
beamed upon her ever with a new expression, gaiety in the one, tender
melancholy in the other. In any matter that concerned their mistress
the brothers showed an admirable quick-wittedness of heart coupled with
instant action which (to use the abbe's own expression) approached the
sublime. Often, if something had to be fetched, if it was a question of
some little attention which men delight to pay to a beloved woman, the
elder would leave that pleasure to the younger with a look at Laurence
that was proud and tender. The younger, on the other hand, put all his
own pride into paying such debts. This rivalry of noble natures in a
feeling which leads men often to the jealous ferocity of the beasts
amazed the old people who were watching it, and bewildered their ideas.

Such little details often drew tears to the eyes of the countess.
A single sensation, which is perhaps all-powerful in some rare
organizations, will give an idea of Laurence's emotions; it may be
perceived by recalling the perfect unison of two fine voices (like those
of Malibran and Sontag) in some harmonious _duo_, or the blending of
two instruments touched by the hand of genius, their melodious tones
entering the soul like the passionate sighing of one heart. Sometimes,
seeing the Marquis de Simeuse buried in an arm-chair and glancing from
time to time with deepest melancholy at his brother and Laurence who
were talking and laughing, the abbe believed him capable of making the
great sacrifice; presently, however, the priest would see in the young
man's eyes the flash of an unconquerable passion. Whenever either of the
brothers found himself alone with Laurence he might reasonably suppose
himself the one preferred.

"I fancy then that there is but one of them," explained the countess to
the abbe when he questioned her. That answer showed the priest her total
want of coquetry. Laurence did not conceive that she was loved by two
men.

"But, my dear child," said Madame d'Hauteserre one evening (her own son
silently dying of love for Laurence), "you must choose!"

"Oh, let us be happy," she replied; "God will save us from ourselves."

Adrien d'Hauteserre buried within his breast the jealousy that was
consuming him; he kept the secret of his torture, aware of how little
he could hope. He tried to be content with the happiness of seeing the
charming woman who during the few months this struggle lasted shone in
all her brilliancy. In one sense Laurence had become coquettish, taking
that dainty care of her person which women who are loved delight in.
She followed the fashions, and went more than once to Paris to deck her
beauty with _chiffons_ or some choice novelty. Desirous of giving her
cousins a sense of home and its every enjoyment, from which they had so
long been severed, she made her chateau, in spite of the remonstrances
of her late guardian, the most completely comfortable house in
Champagne.

Robert d'Hauteserre saw nothing of this hidden drama; he never noticed
his brother's love for Laurence. As to the girl herself, he liked to
tease her about her coquetry,--for he confounded that odious defect
with the natural desire to please; he was always mistaken in matters
of feeling, taste, and the higher ethics. So, whenever this man of
the middle-ages appeared on the scene, Laurence immediately made him,
unknown to himself, the clown of the play; she amused her cousins by
arguing with Robert, and leading him, step by step, into some bog of
ignorance and stupidity. She excelled in such clever mischief, which,
to be really successful, must leave the victim content with himself.
And yet, though his nature was a coarse one, Robert never, during those
delightful months (the only happy period in the lives of the three
young people) said one virile word which might have brought matters to
a crisis between Laurence and her cousins. He was struck with the
sincerity of the brothers; he saw how the one could be glad at the
happiness of the other and yet suffer anguish in the depths of his
heart, and he did perceive how a woman might shrink from showing
tenderness to one which would grieve the other. This perception on
Robert's part was a just one; it explains a situation which, in times
of faith, when the sovereign pontiff had power to intervene and cut
the Gordian knot of such phenomena (allied to the deepest and most
impenetrable mysteries), would have found its solution. The Revolution
had deepened the Catholic faith in these young hearts, and religion now
rendered this crisis in their lives the more severe, because nobility of
character is ever heightened by the grandeur of circumstances. A sense
of this truth kept Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre and the abbe from
the slightest fear of any unworthy result on the part of the brothers or
of Laurence.

This private drama, secretly developing within the limits of the family
life where each member watched it silently, ran its course so rapidly
and withal so slowly, it carried with it so many unhoped-for pleasures,
trifling jars, frustrated fancies, hopes reversed, anxious waitings,
delayed explanations and mute avowals that the dwellers at Cinq-Cygne
paid no attention to the public drama of the Emperor's coronation. At
times these passions made a truce and sought distraction in the violent
enjoyment of hunting, when weariness of body took from the soul all
occasions to wander in the dangerous meadows of reverie. Neither
Laurence nor her cousins had a thought now for public affairs; each day
brought its palpitating and absorbing interests for their hearts.

"Really," said Mademoiselle Goujet one evening, "I don't know which of
all the lovers loves the most."

Adrien, who happened to be alone in the salon with the four
card-players, raised his eyes and turned pale. For the last few days
his only hold on life had been the pleasure of seeing Laurence and of
listening to her.

"I think," said the abbe, "that the countess, being a woman, loves with
the greater abandonment to love."

Laurence, the twins, and Robert entered the room soon after. The
newspapers had just arrived. England, seeing the failure of all
conspiracies attempted within the borders of France, was now arming
all Europe against their common enemy. The disaster at Trafalgar
had overthrown one of the most amazing plans which human genius ever
conceived; by which, if it had succeeded, the Emperor would have paid
the nation for his election by the ruin of the British power. The camp
at Boulogne had just been raised. Napoleon, whose solders were, as
always, inferior in numbers to the enemy, was about to carry the war
into parts of Europe where he had not before waged it. The whole world
was breathless, awaiting the results of the campaign.

"He'll surely be defeated this time," said Robert, laying down the
paper.

"The armies of Austria and of Russia are before him," said Marie-Paul.

"He has never fought in Germany," added Paul-Marie.

"Of whom are you speaking?" asked Laurence.

"The Emperor," answered the three gentlemen.

The jealous girl threw a disdainful look at her twin lovers, which
humiliated them while it rejoiced the heart of Adrien, who made a
gesture of admiration and gave her one proud look, which said plainly
that _he_ thought only of her,--of Laurence.

"I told you," said the abbe in a low voice, "that love would some day
cause her to forget her animosity."

It was the first, last, and only reproach the brothers ever received
from her; but certainly at that moment their love, which could still be
distracted by national events, was inferior to that of Laurence, which,
absorbed her mind so completely that she only knew of the amazing
triumph at Austerlitz by overhearing a discussion between Monsieur
d'Hauteserre and his sons.

Faithful to his ideas of submission, the old man wished both Robert and
Adrien to re-enter the French army and apply for service; they could,
he thought, be reinstated in their rank and soon find an opening
to military honors. But royalist opinions were now all-powerful at
Cinq-Cygne. The four young men and Laurence laughed at their prudent
elder, who seemed to foresee a coming evil. Possibly, prudence is less
virtue than the exercise of some instinct, or _sense_ of the mind (if it
is allowable to couple those two words). A day will come, no doubt, when
physiologists and philosophers will both admit that the senses are, in
some way, the sheath or vehicle of a keen and penetrative active power
which issues from the mind.

CHAPTER XI. WISE COUNSEL

After peace was concluded between France and Austria, towards the end
of the month of February, 1806, a relative, whose influence had been
employed for the reinstatement of the Simeuse brothers, and who was
destined later to give them signal proofs of family attachment, the
ci-devant Marquis de Chargeboeuf, whose estates extended from the
department of the Seine-et-Marne to that of the Aube, arrived one
morning at Cinq-Cygne in a species of caleche which was then named in
derision a _berlingot_. When this shabby carriage was driven past the
windows the inhabitants of the chateau, who were at breakfast, were
convulsed with laughter; but when the bald head of the old man was
seen issuing from behind the leather curtain of the vehicle Monsieur
d'Hauteserre told his name, and all present rose instantly to receive
and do honor to the head of the house of Chargeboeuf.

"We have done wrong to let him come to us," said the Marquis de Simeuse
to his brother and the d'Hauteserres; "we ought to have gone to him and
made our acknowledgements."

A servant, dressed as a peasant, who drove the horses from a seat on a
level with the body of the carriage, slipped his cartman's whip into a
coarse leather socket, and got down from the box to assist the marquis
from the carriage; but Adrien and the younger de Simeuse prevented him,
unbuttoned the leather apron, and helped the old man out in spite of his
protestations. This gentleman of the old school chose to consider his
yellow _berlingot_ with its leather curtains a most convenient and
excellent equipage. The servant, assisted by Gothard, unharnessed the
stout horses with shining flanks, accustomed no doubt to do as much duty
at the plough as in a carriage.

"In spite of this cold weather! Why, you are a knight of the olden
time," said Laurence, to her visitor, taking his arm and leading him
into the salon.

"What has he come for?" thought old d'Hauteserre.

Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, a handsome old gentleman of sixty-six,
in light-colored breeches, his small weak legs encased in colored
stockings, wore powder, pigeon-wings and a queue. His green cloth
hunting-coat with gold buttons was braided and frogged with gold. His
white waistcoat glittered with gold embroidery. This apparel, still in
vogue among old people, became his face, which was not unlike that of
Frederick the Great. He never put on his three-cornered hat lest he
should destroy the effect of the half-moon traced upon his cranium by
a layer of powder. His right hand, resting on a hooked cane, held both
cane and hat in a manner worthy of Louis XIV. The fine old gentleman
took off his wadded silk pelisse and seated himself in an armchair,
holding the three-cornered hat and the cane between his knees in an
attitude the secret of which has never been grasped by any but the roues
of Louis XV.'s court, an attitude which left the hands free to play with
a snuff-box, always a precious trinket. Accordingly the marquis drew
from the pocket of his waistcoat, which was closed by a flap embroidered
in gold arabesques, a sumptuous snuff-box. While fingering his own
pinch and offering the box around him with another charming gesture
accompanied with kindly smiles, he noticed the pleasure which his visit
gave. He seemed then to comprehend why these young _emigres_ had been
remiss in their duty towards him, and to be saying to himself, "When we
are making love we can't make visits."

"You will stay with us some days?" said Laurence.

"Impossible," he replied. "If we were not so separated by events (for as
to distance, you go farther than that which lies between us) you would
know, my dear child, that I have daughters, daughters-in-law, and
grand-children. All these dear creatures would be very uneasy if I did
not return to them to-night, and I have forty-five miles to go."

"Your horses are in good condition," said the Marquis de Simeuse.

"Oh! I am just from Troyes, where I had business yesterday."

After the customary polite inquiries for the Marquise de Chargeboeuf and
other matters really uninteresting but about which politeness assumes
that we are keenly interested, it dawned on Monsieur d'Hauteserre
that the old gentleman had come to warn his young relatives against
imprudence. He remarked that times were changed and no one could tell
what the Emperor might now become.

"Oh!" said Laurence, "he'll make himself God."

The Marquis spoke of the wisdom of concession. When he stated, with more
emphasis and authority than he put into his other remarks, the necessity
of submission, Monsieur d'Hauteserre looked at his sons with an almost
supplicating air.

"Would you serve that man?" asked the Marquis de Simeuse.

"Yes, I would, if the interests of my family required it," replied
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf.

Gradually the old man made them aware, though vaguely, of some
threatened danger. When Laurence begged him to explain the nature of
it, he advised the four young men to refrain from hunting and to keep
themselves as much in retirement as possible.

"You treat the domain of Gondreville as if it were your own," he said to
the Messieurs de Simeuse, "and you are keeping alive a deadly hatred. I
see, by the surprise upon your faces, that you are quite unaware of
the ill-will against you at Troyes, where your late brave conduct is
remembered. They tell of how you foiled the police of the Empire; some
praise you for it, but others regard you as enemies of the Emperor;
partisans declare that Napoleon's clemency is inexplicable. That,
however, is nothing. The real danger lies here; you foiled men who
thought themselves cleverer than you; and low-bred men never forgive.
Sooner or later justice, which in your department emanates from your
enemy, Senator Malin (who has his henchmen everywhere, even in the
ministerial offices),--_his_ justice will rejoice to see you involved in
some annoying scrape. A peasant, for instance, will quarrel with you
for riding over his field; your guns are in your hands, you are
hot-tempered, and something happens. In your position it is absolutely
essential that you should not put yourselves in the wrong. I do
not speak to you thus without good reason. The police keep this
arrondissement under strict surveillance; they have an agent in that
little hole of Arcis expressly to protect the Imperial senator Malin
against your attacks. He is afraid of you, and says so openly."

"It is a calumny!" cried the younger Simeuse.

"A calumny,--I am sure of it myself, but will the public believe it?
Michu certainly did aim at the senator, who does not forget the danger
he was in; and since your return the countess has taken Michu into her
service. To many persons, in fact to the majority, Malin will seem to
be in the right. You do not understand how delicate the position of an
_emigre_ is towards those who are now in possession of his property. The
prefect, a very intelligent man, dropped a word to me yesterday about
you which has made me uneasy. In short, I sincerely wish you would not
remain here."

This speech was received in dumb amazement. Marie-Paul rang the bell.

"Gothard," he said, to the little page, "send Michu here."

"Michu, my friend," said the Marquis de Simeuse when the man appeared,
"is it true that you intended to kill Malin?"

"Yes, Monsieur le marquis; and when he comes here again I shall lie in
wait for him."

"Do you know that we are suspected of instigating it, and that our
cousin, by taking you as her farmer is supposed to be furthering your
scheme?"

"Good God!" cried Michu, "am I accursed? Shall I never be able to rid
you of that villain?"

"No, my man, no!" said Paul-Marie. "But we will always take care of you,
though you will have to leave our service and the country too. Sell your
property here; we will send you to Trieste to a friend of ours who has
immense business connections, and he'll employ you until things are
better in this country for all of us."

Tears came into Michu's eyes; he stood rooted to the floor.

"Were there any witnesses when you aimed at Malin?" asked the Marquis de
Chargeboeuf.

"Grevin the notary was talking with him, and that prevented my killing
him--very fortunately, as Madame la Comtesse knows," said Michu, looking
at his mistress.

"Grevin is not the only one who knows it?" said Monsieur de Chargeboeuf,
who seemed annoyed at what was said, though none but the family were
present.

"That police spy who came here to trap my masters, he knew it too," said
Michu.

Monsieur de Chargeboeuf rose as if to look at the gardens, and said,
"You have made the most of Cinq-Cygne." Then he left the house, followed
by the two brothers and Laurence, who now saw the meaning of his visit.

"You are frank and generous, but most imprudent," said the old man. "It
was natural enough that I should warn you of a rumor which was certain
to be a slander; but what have you done now? you have let such weak
persons as Monsieur and Madame d'Hauteserre and their sons see that
there was truth in it. Oh, young men! young men! You ought to keep Michu
here and go away yourselves. But if you persist in remaining, at least
write a letter to the senator and tell him that having heard the rumors
about Michu you have dismissed him from your employ."

"We!" exclaimed the brothers; "what, write to Malin,--to the murderer of
our father and our mother, to the insolent plunderer of our property!"

"All true; but he is one of the chief personages at the Imperial court,
and the king of your department."

"He, who voted for the death of Louis XVI. in case the army of Conde
entered France!" cried Laurence.

"He, who probably advised the murder of the Duc d'Enghien!" exclaimed
Paul-Marie.

"Well, well, if you want to recapitulate his titles of nobility," cried
Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, "say he who pulled Robespierre by the skirts
of his coat to make him fall when he saw that his enemies were stronger
than he; he who would have shot Bonaparte if the 18th Brumaire had
missed fire; he who manoeuvres now to bring back the Bourbons if
Napoleon totters; he whom the strong will ever find on their side to
handle either sword or pistol and put an end to an adversary whom they
fear! But--all that is only reason the more for what I urge upon you."

"We have fallen very low," said Laurence.

"Children," said the old marquis, taking them by the hand and going to
the lawn, then covered by a slight fall of snow; "you will be angry at
the prudent advice of an old man, but I am bound to give it, and here
it is: If I were you I would employ as go-between some trustworthy old
fellow--like myself, for instance; I would commission him to ask Malin
for a million of francs for the title-deeds of Gondreville; he would
gladly consent if the matter were kept secret. You will then have
capital in hand, an income of a hundred thousand francs, and you can
buy a fine estate in another part of France. As for Cinq-Cygne, it can
safely be left to the management of Monsieur d'Hauteserre, and you
can draw lots as to which of you shall win the hand of this dear
heiress--But ah! I know the words of an old man in the ears of the young
are like the words of the young in the ears of the old, a sound without
meaning."

The old marquis signed to his three relatives that he wished no answer,
and returned to the salon, where, during their absence, the abbe and his
sister had arrived.

The proposal to draw lots for their cousin's hand had offended the
brothers, while Laurence revolted in her soul at the bitterness of the
remedy the old marquis counselled. All three were now less gracious to
him, though they did not cease to be polite. The warmth of their feeling
was chilled. Monsieur de Chargeboeuf, who felt the change, cast
frequent looks of kindly compassion on these charming young people.
The conversation became general, but the old marquis still dwelt on
the necessity of submitting to events, and he applauded Monsieur
d'Hauteserre for his persistence in urging his sons to take service
under the Empire.

"Bonaparte," he said, "makes dukes. He has created Imperial fiefs,
he will therefore make counts. Malin is determined to be Comte de
Gondreville. That is a fancy," he added, looking at the Simeuse
brothers, "which might be profitable to you--"

"Or fatal," said Laurence.

As soon as the horses were put-to the marquis took leave, accompanied to
the door by the whole party. When fairly in the carriage he made a sign
to Laurence to come and speak to him, and she sprang upon the foot-board
with the lightness of a swallow.

"You are not an ordinary woman, and you ought to understand me," he said
in her ear. "Malin's conscience will never allow him to leave you in
peace; he will set some trap to injure you. I implore you to be careful
of all your actions, even the most unimportant. Compromise, negotiate;
those are my last words."

The brothers stood motionless behind their cousin and watched the
_berlingot_ as it turned through the iron gates and took the road to
Troyes. Laurence repeated the old man's last words. But sage experience
should not present itself to the eyes of youth in a _berlingot_, colored
stockings, and a queue. These ardent young hearts had no conception
of the change that had passed over France; indignation crisped their
nerves, honor boiled with their noble blood through every vein.

"He, the head of the house of Chargeboeuf!" said the Marquis de Simeuse.
"A man who bears the motto _Adsit fortior_, the noblest of warcries!"

"We are no longer in the days of Saint-Louis," said the younger Simeuse.

"But 'We die singing,'" said the countess. "The cry of the five young
girls of my house is mine!"

"And ours, 'Cy meurs,'" said the elder Simeuse. "Therefore, no quarter,
I say; for, on reflection, we shall find that our relative had pondered
well what he told us--Gondreville to be the title of a Malin!"

"And his seat!" said the younger.

"Mansart designed it for noble stock, and the populace will get their
children in it!" exclaimed the elder.

"If that were to come to pass, I'd rather see Gondreville in ashes!"
cried Mademoiselle Cinq-Cygne.

One of the villagers, who had entered the grounds to examine a calf
Monsieur d'Hauteserre was trying to sell him, overheard these words as
he came from the cow-sheds.

"Let us go in," said Laurence, laughing; "this is very imprudent; we are
giving the old marquis a right to blame us. My poor Michu," she added,
as she entered the salon, "I had forgotten your adventure; as we are
not in the odor of sanctity in these parts you must be careful not
to compromise us in future. Have you any other peccadilloes on your
conscience?"

"I blame myself for not having killed the murderer of my old masters
before I came to the rescue of my present ones--"

"Michu!" said the abbe in a warning tone.

"But I'll not leave the country," Michu continued, paying no heed to
the abbe's exclamation, "till I am certain you are safe. I see fellows
roaming about here whom I distrust. The last time we hunted in the
forest, that keeper who took my place at Gondreville came to me and
asked if we supposed we were on our own property. 'Ho! my lad,' I said,
'we can't get rid in two weeks of ideas we've had for centuries.'"

"You did wrong, Michu," said the Marquis de Simeuse, smiling with
satisfaction.

"What answer did he make?" asked Monsieur d'Hauteserre.

"He said he would inform the senator of our claims," replied Michu.

"Comte de Gondreville!" repeated the elder Simeuse; "what a masquerade!
But after all, they say 'your Majesty' to Bonaparte!"

"And to the Grand Duc de Berg, 'your Highness!'" said the abbe.

"Who is he?" asked the Marquis de Simeuse.

"Murat, Napoleon's brother-in-law," replied old d'Hauteserre.

"Delightful!" remarked Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne. "Do they also say
'your Majesty' to the widow of Beauharnais?"

"Yes, mademoiselle," said the abbe.

"We ought to go to Paris and see it all," cried Laurence.

"Alas, mademoiselle," said Michu, "I was there to put Francois at
school, and I swear to you there's no joking with what they call the
Imperial Guard. If the rest of the army are like them, the thing may
last longer than we."