l by England was suddenly wide
awake.

Nevertheless, Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence had supplied the one ingredient
necessary to leaven the talk of these dreamers into action. Even the
notary found himself compelled to contribute when Albert de Chantonnay
asked him outright for a subscription. And the priests, ably led by the
Abbe Touvent, acted after the manner of the sons of Levi since olden
times. They did not give themselves, but they told others to give, which
is far better.

In due course the money was sent to England. It was the plain truth that
the Marquis de Gemosac had not sufficient in his pocket to equip Loo
Barebone with the clothes necessary to a seemly appearance in France;
or, indeed, to cover the expense of the journey thither. Dormer Colville
never had money to spare. "Heaven shaped me for a rich man," he would
say, lightly, whenever the momentous subject was broached, "but forgot
to fill my pockets."

It was almost the time of the vintage, and the country roads were dotted
with the shambling figures of those knights of industry who seem to
spring from the hedgerows at harvest-time in any country in the world,
when the Abbe Touvent sought out Marie in her cottage at the gates of
the chateau.

"A la cave," answered the lady's voice. "In the cellar--do you not know
that it is Monday and I wash?"

The Abbe did not repeat his summons on the kitchen table with the handle
of his stick, but drew forward a chair.

"I know it is very hot, and that I am tired," he shouted toward the
cellar door, which stood open, giving egress to a warm smell of soap.

"Precisely--and does Monsieur l'Abbe want me to come up as I am?"

The suggestion was darkly threatening, and the Abbe replied that Marie
must take her time, since it was washing-day.

The cottage was built on sloping ground at the gate of the chateau,
probably of the stones used for some earlier fortification. That which
Marie called the cellar was but half underground, and had an exit to the
garden which grew to the edge of the cliff. It was not long before she
appeared at the head of the stone steps, a square-built woman with a
face that had been sunburnt long ago by work in the vineyards, and
eyes looking straight at the world from beneath a square and wrinkled
forehead.

"Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, shortly--a salutation and a comment in one;
for it conveyed the fact that she saw it was he and perceived that he
was in his usual health. "It is news from