than she could help that the firebrand of Europe should once more
sit upon the throne of France, and unless the allies had greatly altered
their policy in the past ten months and refused England the necessary
support, Wellington would be more than a match for the decimated army of
Bonaparte.

But a few weeks--months, perhaps, might elapse before Napoleon was once
again put entirely out of action--and this time more completely and more
effectually than with a small kingdom wherein to dream again of European
conquests; during those weeks and months Brestalou and its inhabitants
would be at the mercy of the man from Corsica--the island of unrest and
of never sleeping vendetta.

De Marmont was ready enough to talk. He knew nothing, of course, of
Napoleon's plans and ideas save what Emery had told him. But what he
lacked in knowledge he more than made up in imagination. Excitement too
had made him voluble. He talked freely and incessantly: "The Emperor
would do this. . . . The Emperor will never tolerate that . . ." was all
the time on his lips.

He bragged and he swaggered, launched into passionate eulogies of the
Emperor, and fiery denunciations of his enemies. Berthier, Clark,
Foucher, de Marmont, they all deserved death. Ney alone was to be
pardoned, for Ney was a fine soldier--always supposing that Ney would
repent. But men like the Comte de Cambray were a pest in any
country--mischief-making and intriguing. Bah! the Emperor will never
tolerate them.

Suddenly Clyffurde--who had become half-drowsy, lulled to somnolence by
de Marmont's incessant chatter and the monotonous jog-trot of the
horses--woke to complete consciousness. He pricked his ears and in a
moment was all attention.

"They think that they can deceive me," de Marmont was saying airily.
"They think that I am as great a fool as they are, with their talk of
Mme. la Duchesse's journey north, directly after the wedding! Bah! any
dolt can put two and two together: the Comte tells me in one breath that
he had a visit from Fourier in the afternoon, and that the Duchesse--who
only arrived in Brestalou yesterday--would leave again for Paris on the
day after to-morrow, and he tells it me with a mysterious air, and adds
a knowing wink, and a promise that he would explain himself more fully
later on. I could have laughed--if it were not all so miserably stupid."

He paused for want of breath and tried to peer through the window of the
coach.

"It is pitch-dark