Pierre fired again, but this time hit nothing.

"It was a good idea of mine," he said, rubbing his chest, "to use this
portfolio as a breastplate. And now, Margotte, carry me to Fribourg
without further adventures!"

As Margotte obeyed the spur, her master heard the gallop of another
horse dying away in the distance.

"Strange!" he said. "I could not see his face, but it seemed to me that
I knew his voice when he cried out!"

CHAPTER V.

WHAT PIERRE KNEW.

The Place Notre Dame at Fribourg was crowded with citizens and soldiers.
The citizens wore troubled, and talked together in low voices, while the
soldiers were noisy and abusive against France.

The colossal spire of the Cathedral threw its shadow over this scene.

Sovereigns and diplomats, ready for an invasion of France, had left
Frankfort for Fribourg, there to complete their plans of vengeance and
hate.

Blucher, with Sachen and Laugeron, had concentrated their troops between
Mayence and Coblentz. The Prince de Schwartzemberg was marching toward
Bale. The Swiss were irritated, believing that their neutrality would be
violated.

In the Chamber of Commerce the Emperor Alexander, with Metternich and
Lord Castlereagh, were studying maps, eager for the fray and the
dismemberment of France. Count Pozzo de Borga was on his way to England.

On the Place de Ministre a tall mansion faces the Cathedral. Steps, with
wrought iron railings, lead to the oaken door, well barred with steel.
On the second floor, in a large, gloomy room, several persons are
assembled. The last rays of the setting sun are coming from the high
windows through the heavy panes of glass set in lead.

Standing near a window is a lady in black, looking out on the Square;
her hand caresses a child who clings to her skirts. The two corners of
the chimney in which are burning resinous logs of wood are occupied. On
one side sits an old man, on the other a lady wrapped in a cloak that
covers her entirely.

The Marquis de Fongereues is only sixty, but his white hair, his
wrinkles, and the sad senility of his countenance gave him the
appearance of an octogenarian. He sits motionless, his hands crossed on
his knees. The lady opposite, whose head rests on the high oak back of
her chair, is not yet forty. Her face is hard, and her eyes, fixed upon
the Marquis, seem eager to read his thoughts. She is Pauline de
Maillezais--Marquise de Fongereues--and the lady at the window is
Magdalena, Vicom