ked to reason with him, too, on the subject of that
cousin, and to point out kindly, as a friend, how Monsieur de Sainfoy
had had absolutely no real and good excuse for going over to the
Emperor. Nothing but ambition and worldiness could have led him into the
course he had taken. Urbain de la Mariniere, known even before 1789 as a
philosophical Republican, held a very different place in the estimation
of honest men.

"That farmer on the _landes_"--said the Vicomte, looking at his host--"a
good example of a superior peasant, is he not? We passed near his farm
this morning. What line does he take?"

"Joubard? He is a fine old fellow, that. His fifth son was taken by the
conscription a year ago. Four are dead. I think his heart is in the
right place. But he is my brother's best tenant. Yes--I don't know. Old
Joubard is made of good stuff, and he loves me."

"And probably he loved his sons, and their mother loved them too," said
Cesar d'Ombre.

"Here are my children," said Monsieur Joseph, looking out of the window.
"Breakfast will be ready immediately. With your leave we will finish
our discussion afterwards."

All the faces lightened, except that of the Baron d'Ombre, whose soul
was too much in earnest to be glad of a bodily interruption. But the
ride had been long, over difficult roads and under a hot sun, and
breakfast was later than usual. The three elder conspirators were not
sorry to lay aside their plotting for an hour, and they knew by
experience that Monsieur Joseph's cook was an artist. On an occasion
such as this, dishes of the rarest distinction crossed the sandy court
from that quaint high-roofed kitchen.

The children, as Monsieur Joseph called them, came to the glass door and
opened it gently. They were Angelot and Henriette, first cousins, and
alike enough to be brother and sister, in spite of the ten years between
them.

The girl, with her fearless eyes, walked first; it seemed natural to
her. All the men rose and bowed as she came in. She made a formal
curtsey to each one separately, and smiled when Monsieur des Barres, the
man of the world, bent gracefully to kiss her hand as if she had been a
grown-up woman.

"Good morning, my dear uncle," said Angelot, and kissed Monsieur Joseph
on both cheeks; then bowed deeply to the company.

They looked upon him with not altogether friendly eyes; the Comte
d'Ombre even muttered something between his teeth, and hardly returned
the young fellow's salutati