t those little thin hands had
folded together for him.

"You must give me fair notice, Uncle Joseph," he said. "Police or no
police, I do not go without wishing her good-bye."

Everything came at once, as fate would have it. It was after dark, a
wild, windy evening, stars looking through the hurrying clouds, no
moonrise till early morning. With every precaution, Monsieur Joseph
now allowed his nephew to dine in the dining-room, taking care to place
him where he could not be seen from outside when Gigot came in through
the shutters from the kitchen. Angelot had now been kept in hiding for
ten days, and the police seemed to have disappeared from the woods, so
that Monsieur Joseph's mind was easier.

Suddenly, as they sat at dinner that evening, all the dogs began to
bark.

"Go into your den!" said the little uncle, starting up.

"No, dear uncle, this game pie is too good," Angelot said coolly. "I
heard a horse coming down the lane. It is Monsieur d'Ombre's messenger."

"If it is--very true, you had better eat your dinner," said his uncle.

And to be sure, in a few minutes, Gigot came in with a letter, Angelot's
marching orders. At five o'clock the next morning Cesar d'Ombre would
wait for him at the Etang des Morts, a lonely, legend-haunted pool in
the woods where four roads met, about two leagues beyond the _landes_ by
way of La Joubardiere.

"Very well; you will start at three o'clock," said Monsieur Joseph.
"Give the man something to eat and send him back, Gigot, to meet his
master."

"Three o'clock! I shall be asleep!" said Angelot. "Surely an hour will
be enough to take me to the Etang des Morts--a cheerful rendezvous!"

He laughed and looked at Riette. She was very pale and grave, her dark
eyes wide open.

"The good dead--they will watch over you, mon petit!" she murmured. "We
must not be afraid of them."

"This is not a time for talking nonsense, children," said Monsieur
Joseph; he looked at them severely, his mouth trembling. "Half-past
three at latest; the boy might lose his way in the dark."

Riette got up suddenly and flung her arms round Angelot's neck.

"Mon petit, mon petit!" she repeated, burying her face on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "How am I to finish my dinner? You come
between me and the best pie that Marie ever made! Get along with you,
little good-for-nothing!"

He laughed; then Marie's pie seemed to choke him; he pushed back his
chair, lifted Riette lightly an