voice
trembled with infinite dolor.

"Oh, poor man," she cried, weeping. "I pity you."

He turned upon her a dazed glance, a glance out of a mind absorbed in an
unspeakable grief, and returning into his absorption, left the room.

She had been so keenly excited from instant to instant by the statements
of Philibert that she had not checked the interview. Apart from her pity
for him, the safety of Germain was the single issue of her thoughts, and
it was with alarm that she sat down and put together her impressions on
that subject. The mixture of woe with triumph on Philibert's countenance
affected her powerfully, and the words, "You know not this name of
sorrow, this name of blood," troubled her. The vengeance, the killing,
the family feud, to which he referred, what were they all? "Oh,
Germain," she thought, continuing to weep, "some heavy cloud is hanging
over you."

Meanwhile the scandal had spread to several circles in Versailles, and
was lit upon by the Abbe Jude, who, too happy to contain himself, ran to
Cyrene and invented an order to her from the Princess to attend in her
chamber; and when he had led her into the presence of her Excellency, he
addressed the latter--

"Madame has of course heard the new tale?" he said.

"Something fresh this morning, Abbe? Who does it concern?"

"Not the great Monsieur, the Prince, my lady, but a Monsieur of much
nearer acquaintance."

"Indeed? Monsieur Who, then? How interesting! Make no delay."

"The difficulty precisely is to say Who, Madame; but it is he who
_calls_ himself Monsieur de Repentigny. There is in Paris at this very
instant a _real_ Monsieur de Repentigny--no relation to our one--who is
publicly declaring our Canadian to have stolen his title, and to be
nothing less than a cheat."

He gave a malicious look at Cyrene, who turned pale and caught at a
chair. However, the great lady herself intervened.

"Stop, Abbe; stop, sir. This time you pass the bounds permitted you. How
dare you come into the presence of a Princess inventing such slanderous
monstrosities against your superior. A nephew, sir, of the Chevalier de
Bailleul, acknowledged by him as such to myself in his own chateau, is
above the aspersions of a contemptible plebeian. Let this be a lesson to
you, and never dare again to enter my sight. Footmen, conduct him out
of my presence and service. No reply! I am irrevocable in this."

"What is the commotion I heard?" exclaimed Madame l'Etiquette, en