d be no use speaking to your uncle, of course; anything we
could say would only make him the more determined. But I will tell you
what we can do; we can go ourselves, and see fair play."

"Go ourselves, you crazy girl! What are you thinking of?"

"I mean that if we were present, in hiding of course, and unknown to any
one, we could intervene in time to prevent bloodshed, and if your uncle
should chance to be getting the worst of it, we should certainly be able
to save his life. La Pommeraye could hardly kill him in our presence. We
should, besides, have the rare opportunity of seeing a contest between
the two best swordsmen in France," and the impetuous girl's eyes
sparkled with some of the warlike fire of her warrior ancestors. "Would
it not be a glorious chance, Marguerite? But how we should manage to
conceal ourselves in an open space like the Sillon, I do not know."

"Oh, as to that," said Marguerite, "that would be easily managed. Within
ten yards of the spot where they fought last night there is a step
leading down to the water's edge, and closed on either side. It is
called the 'Lovers' Descent'--Claude showed it to me one day--and there
we could stand without fear of detection. But I must consider your mad
scheme. Could we possibly manage to prevent a catastrophe? And even if
we succeeded in doing so, would it not be only a postponement of the
issue? They are determined to meet, and we should only make them so much
the more determined--to say nothing of my uncle's wrath when he
discovers our presence. But then, if what you say of La Pommeraye be
true--and my uncle is alone, and no one knows of the meeting--yes,
Bastienne, I am here. What is it?"

She interrupted herself at the entrance of a short, thick-set woman,
considerably past middle-age--evidently a privileged old servant. There
was no mistaking her origin. She was a peasant of Picardy, faithful,
honest, good-natured, and strong as an ox. She had been in the service
of De Roberval's family all her life; and once, by her courage and
devotion, had actually saved his castle when it was besieged by the
Spaniards. They had forced their way to the very gates, and had built a
huge fire against the door of the tower, whence the defenders had fled
in terror, when Bastienne seized a keg of powder, and dropped it fairly
into the midst of the fire, round which the soldiers stood waiting till
the great oaken doors should be burned away. The castle shook to its
found