d carried her out of the room.

"Now I am in prison no longer," he said. "I am going to run across to La
Mariniere; will you come too, little cousin?"

But Monsieur Joseph had something to say to that. He would not let
Angelot go without sermons so long that the boy could hardly listen to
them, on the care he was to take that no servant or dog at La Mariniere
saw him, on the things he might and might not say to his mother.

At last Angelot said aside to Henriette: "There is only one thing I
regret--that I did not go straight home at first to my father and
mother. That will bring misfortune on us all, if anything does--my uncle
is absolutely too much of a conspirator."

"Hush, you are ungrateful," said Riette, gravely.

"Ah! It seems to me that I am nothing good or fortunate--everything bad
and unlucky! My relations and their politics toss me like a ball,"
Angelot sighed impatiently. "I wish this night were over and we were on
our way, I and that excellent grumpy Cesar. And the farther I go, the
more I shall want to come back. Tiens! Riette, I am miserable!"

The child gazed at him with her great eyes, full of the love and
understanding of a woman.

"Courage!" she said. "You will come back--with the King."

"The King!" Angelot repeated bitterly. "Ask Martin Joubard about that.
Hear him talk of the Emperor."

"A peasant! a common soldier! What does he know?" said the girl,
scornfully. "I think my papa knows better."

"Ah, well! Believe in him; you are right," said Angelot.

They talked as they stood outside the house in the dim starlight,
waiting a few moments for Monsieur Joseph: he chose to go part of the
way with Angelot, and consented unwillingly to take Riette with him. The
dead silence of the woods and fields was only broken by the moan of the
wind; a sadness that struck to the heart brooded over the depths of
lonely land; far down in the valley cold mists were creeping, and even
on the lower slopes of Monsieur Joseph's meadow a chilly damp rose from
the undrained ground. As far as one could tell, not a human being moved
in the woods; the feet of Monsieur d'Ombre's messenger had passed up the
lane out of hearing; all was solitary and silent about the quaint
turreted house with its many shuttered windows and dark guards lying
silent, stretched on the sand. Only one of these rose and shook himself
and followed his master.

But the loneliness was not so great as it seemed. Behind a large tree to
leeward o