oseph's neck and that the police held the end of it. A secret meeting
to-day--at Joseph's house--and Joseph's and Angelot's the only names
known!"

"Ange was not at the meeting!" cried Madame de la Mariniere.

"I know--but who will believe that?"

Angelot was a little impressed. He had very seldom seen his father, so
hopeful, so even-tempered, with a cloud of anxiety on his face. The very
rarity of such uneasiness made it catching. A sort of apprehensive chill
seemed to creep from the corners of the dark old room, steal along by
the shuttered windows, hover about the gaping cavern of the hearth. It
became an air, breathing through the room in the motionless September
night, so that the candle-flames on madame's table bent and flickered
suddenly.

Then the dogs out in the yard began to bark.

"They are barking at the moon," said Monsieur Urbain. "No, at somebody
passing by."

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

"Do, my boy."

The mother turned pale, half rose, as if to stop him. "Not the police!"
were the words on her lips; but her husband's calmness reassured her.

Angelot went out into the hall, and reached the house-door just as
somebody outside began to knock upon it. He opened it, and saw two
figures standing in the half-darkness: for the moon was not yet very
high, and while she bathed all the valley in golden light, making
Lancilly's walls and windows shine with a fairy beauty, the house at La
Mariniere still cast a broad shadow. The figures were of a man and a
woman, strangers to Angelot; he, standing in the dark doorway, was
equally strange to them and only dimly visible. The stranger lifted his
hand courteously to his hat, and there was a touch of hesitation in his
very musical voice, as if--which was the fact--he did not know to whom
he was speaking.

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

"Certainly, monsieur," said Angelot. "One moment, and I will fetch a
light--madame--" and he bowed low to the stranger's companion.

"What? Are you Angelot? Shake hands: there is light enough for that,"
said the visitor with sudden friendliness. "Let me present you to my
daughter Helene--your cousin, in fact."

The slender, silent girl who stood by Monsieur de Sainfoy might have
been pretty or ugly--there was no light to show--but Angelot seemed to
know by instinct at once all tha