s accursed usurper who is draining her
life blood. That, I say, is what the peasants feel, most of them, as
strongly as we do. But they are of course uneducated. They need stirring
up, drilling, leading. And I can hardly believe, monsieur, that the
weight of one man in the other scale--even of your learned and
distinguished brother--would outweigh all the claims of faith and
affection and loyalty. No--delay and hesitation are useless. Trust the
peasants, I say."

"You may be right--I hope you are--" said Monsieur Joseph, more gravely
than usual. "But my brother will not now be alone in the left-hand
scale. Lancilly, under his care, has given the people work and wages for
years, remember. And now, with Herve de Sainfoy's return--"

A howl from Cesar d'Ombre, a groan from his father, a grimace of disgust
from Monsieur de Bourmont, who had reason, for his own cousin, once a
Chouan, was now an Imperial officer--a laugh from Monsieur des Barres;
all this greeted the name of the owner of Lancilly.

"Although that renegade is your cousin, monsieur," old d'Ombre growled,
"I hope the country side may soon be made too hot to hold him."

Monsieur Joseph shrugged his shoulders, smiled, looked on the floor. He
did not take up the old man's words; he could not very well have done
so. But there was something about him which reminded his guests that the
slender little boyish man was a dead shot and a perfect swordsman, and
that once, long ago, in old La Vendee days, he had challenged a man who
had said something insulting of his brother Urbain, and after one or two
swift passes had laid him dead at his feet.

There was a moment of rather awkward silence. Then Monsieur des Barres
took up the word again.

"To be practical, my friends," he repeated, "the first step to action,
it seems to me, is to sound and encourage the peasants. Each of us must
be responsible for his own neighbourhood."

"We will answer for ours," said Cesar d'Ombre.

Monsieur de Bourmont, the most cautious of the party, murmured something
to the same effect, and Monsieur Joseph nodded gravely.

The Vicomte's eyes dwelt on him, a little anxiously. It seemed as if
that word "renegade," applied to his cousin and neighbour, might have a
tendency to stick in his throat. Des Barres, who admired and loved the
little gentleman, was sorry. He wanted to remind him how the old Comte
d'Ombre was universally known for bad manners, stupidity, and violence.
He would have li