perceived
that the place was no unaccustomed haunt. He crept nearer and nearer;
and as the landlord shook hands with his customer, he heard distinctly
the former address him by the name of "Guillot." When the men withdrew,
Gabriel followed them at a distance (taking care first to impress on his
memory the name of the cafe, and the street in which it was placed) and,
as he thought, unobserved; he was mistaken. Suddenly, in one street
more solitary than the rest, the man whom he was mainly bent on tracking
turned round, advanced to Gabriel, who was on the other side of the
street, and laid his hand upon him so abruptly that the boy was fairly
taken by surprise.

"Who bade you follow us?" said he, with so dark and fell an expression
of countenance that even Gabriel's courage failed him. "No evasion,
no lies; speak out, and at once;" and the grasp tightened on the boy's
throat.

Gabriel's readiness of resource and presence of mind did not long
forsake him.

"Loose your hold, and I will tell you--you stifle me." The man slightly
relaxed his grasp, and Gabriel said quickly "My mother perished on the
guillotine in the Reign of Terror; I am for the Bourbons. I thought I
overheard words which showed sympathy for poor George, the brave Chouan.
I followed you; for I thought I was following friends."

The man smiled as he fixed his steady eye upon the unflinching child.
"My poor lad," he said gently, "I believe you,--pardon me; but follow
us no more,--we are dangerous!" He waved his hand, and strode away and
rejoined his companion, and Gabriel reluctantly abandoned the pursuit
and went homeward. It was long before he reached his father's house, for
he had strayed into a strange quarter of Paris, and had frequently to
inquire the way. At length he reached home, and ascended the stairs to
a small room in which Lucretia usually sat, and which was divided by a
narrow corridor from the sleeping-chamber of herself and Dalibard. His
stepmother, leaning her cheek upon her hand, was seated by the window,
so absorbed in some gloomy thoughts, which cast over her rigid face
a shade, intense and solemn as despair, that she did not perceive the
approach of the boy till he threw his arms round her neck, and then she
started as in alarm.

"You! only you," she said, with a constrained smile; "see, my nerves are
not so strong as they were."

"You are disturbed, belle-mere,--has he been vexing you?"

"He--Dalibard? No, indeed; we were only