the
General entirely, washed his hands, as far as possible, of him and his
doings, what chance was there of receiving the large sums of money so
grudgingly promised him!

"A hard master, the devil!" Simon muttered to himself.

He peeped cautiously round the corner of the kitchen wall, where the
silver birches had scattered their golden leaves in the wind of the
night. He watched the little band of gendarmes as they started down the
road towards Sonnay. It struck him that his best plan would be to slip
away across the _landes_ towards the Etang des Morts, and to put himself
right with the authorities by helping to capture a few Chouan gentlemen
and conveying them to prison.

But first--how still all the place was! The men were busy, he supposed,
with their dead master. Surely those windows were not so firmly fastened
but that he could make his way in, and perhaps find some evidence to
prove Monsieur Joseph's complicity in the plots of the moment. He walked
lightly across the sand. A dog barked in the house, and Martin Joubard
looked out from an upper window.

All the evil passions of his nature rose in Simon then. That was the man
who knew he had arrested Angelot; that was the man who had knocked him
down in the park and lost him half an hour of valuable time. As Angelot
himself, in some mysterious way, was out of reach, here was this man on
whom he might revenge himself. Both for his own sake and the General's,
this man would be better out of the way; Simon raised his loaded carbine
and fired.

Martin stepped back at the instant, and he missed him. The shot grazed
Tobie's cheek as he knelt inside the room, resting his long gun-barrel
on the low window-sill.

"Ah, Chouan-catcher, your time is come!" muttered Tobie, and his gun
went off almost of itself.

Simon flung up his arms in the air, and dropped upon the sand.

* * * * *

While these things were happening at Les Chouettes, Angelot was hurrying
back from his mission to the Etang des Morts. He was full of wild
happiness, a joy that could not be believed in, till he saw and touched
Helene again. His heart was as light as the air of that glorious
morning, so keen, clear, and still on the high moorlands as he crossed
them.

He had done all and more than the little uncle expected of him. In the
darkness before dawn, as he rode through the deep lanes beyond La
Joubardiere, he had met a friendly peasant who warned him that a par