rom a
pleasant stroll home with his Sainfoy cousins. Everything seemed
satisfactory; Adelaide had been kind, the vintage was splendid. If only
Angelot were a sensible boy, there would be nothing left to wish for.

The moon was up, flooding the old yards that were now empty and still.
As he came near, he saw Anne waiting for him in the porch, and supposed
that the moonlight made her so strangely pale.

"My dearest," he said, as he came up, "there is to be a ball this month
at Lancilly, in honour of Georges. But I do not know whether that
foolish son of yours will be invited."

Anne looked him in the face; no, it was not the moonlight that made her
so pale.

"They have arrested Ange as a Chouan," she said.

CHAPTER XX

HOW ANGELOT CLIMBED A TREE

The police had caught Angelot; but they did not keep him long.

They had to do with a young man who knew every yard of that wild country
far better than they did, and was almost as much a part of it as the
birds and beasts that haunted it.

"Where are you taking me?" he said, as they walked across the high
expanse of the _landes_, dimly lighted by the last glimmer of day. "This
is a very roundabout way to Sonnay-le-Loir."

"It is not the way at all," said the officer who took the lead, "and we
know that as well as you."

"But I demand to be taken to Sonnay," Angelot said, and stopped. "The
warrant for my arrest, if you have such a thing, must be from the
Prefect. Take me to him, and I will soon convince him that there is some
mistake."

"Monsieur le Prefet is ill, as you know. Walk on, if you please."

"Then take me to the sous-Prefet, or whoever is in his place."

"You are going to a higher authority, monsieur, not a lower one."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You are going to Paris. Monsieur le Comte Real, the head of our branch
of the police, will decide what is to be done with you."

"Mon Dieu! The old Jacobin! He nearly had my uncle in his fangs once,"
said Angelot, half to himself. "But what do they accuse me of?
Chouannerie? But I am not a Chouan, and you know enough of our affairs
to know that, Monsieur Simon!"

The Chouan-catcher laughed sourly.

"I believe this is some private devilry," the prisoner went on, with
careless daring. "The Prefect has nothing to do with it. It is spite
against my uncle--but you are a little afraid of touching him. Don't
imagine, though, that you will annoy him particularly by carrying me
off. We are not on goo