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