Mademoiselle. It would take more than a dozen men to lay hands on him.
They should have known better than let him leave the house. Listen,
Mademoiselle! I believe you can hear him now."

My ears were quicker in those days. For a minute we listened in silence,
and then on the wind I heard more distinctly still the regular thud of a
galloping horse. So he was coming, as I knew he would. I knew he would be
methodical and accurate.

"Yes, Mademoiselle," I continued, "my father has many accomplishments,
but this time even he may be surprised. Who knows, Mademoiselle? Pray
step back inside the doorway until I call you."

But she did not move.

"No," said Mademoiselle, "I prefer to stay where I am. I have seen too
much of you and your father to leave you alone together."

"But surely, Mademoiselle," I protested, "you forget why we have come."

"Yes," she answered quickly, "yes, you are right. I do forget. I have
seen too much of this, too much of utter useless folly--too many men
dying, too many suffering for a hopeless cause. I have seen three men
lying dead in our hall, and as many more wounded. I have seen a strong
man turned into a blackguard. I have seen a son turned against his
father, and all for a bit of paper which should never have been written.
I hate it--do you hear me?--and if I forget it, it is because I choose. I
forget it because--" She seemed about to tell me more, and then to think
better of it. "Surely you see, surely you see you cannot. He is your
father, Monsieur, the man who is coming here."

"Mademoiselle," I replied, "you are far too kind. I hardly think he or I
have much reason to hold our lives of any particular value, but as you
have said, my father was a gentleman once, and gentlemen very seldom kill
their sons, nor gentlemen's sons their fathers. Pray rest assured,
Mademoiselle, it will be a quiet interview. I beg you, be silent, for he
is almost here."

I was not mistaken. A horse was on the path we followed, running hard,
and crashing recklessly through the bushes. Before I had sight of him I
heard my father's voice.

"Ives!" he called sharply. "Where the devil are you?"

And in an instant he was at the door, his horse breathing in hard,
sobbing breaths, and he had swung from the saddle as I went forward
to meet him.

"Here," he said, "take it, and be off. Those fools have run me over half
the state. In fact," he continued in the calm tones I remember best, "in
fact, I have seldom h