he, on the contrary, was the object of his deepest aversion,
for he well knew that she had done her best to have him dismissed from
the service of the Marquis.

The Vicomte de Talizac, the Vicomtesse, and their son, detested Pierre
and watched him closely, with what aim they alone knew.

"I went to the Vosges, master," said Pierre. "I learned that the soldier
known by the name of Simon Fougere had gone to Lorraine. I could learn
nothing more. I went about everywhere--to Epinal, Nancy, Saint Die--and
I had begun to despair, when one evening I reached the foot of a
mountain and saw a little cluster of houses. I asked a peasant who was
passing if I could procure accommodations there for the night.

"Of course," he answered. "Go straight ahead and you will come to friend
Simon's inn."

The Marquis listened breathlessly. Pierre continued:

"The name was a common one in that part of the country, as I had good
reason to know, but this time my heart began to beat. I thanked the
peasant and I hurried on. And when I think that a Comte de
Fongereues----"

"It was he, then!" cried the Marquis, snatching his servant's hands.
"And you saw him? Tell me everything!"

"He is happy," answered Pierre. "But, master, let me tell my story in my
own way, for then I shall forget nothing. I went into a little inn,
which was as clean as possible and bore the sign, 'France!' A fire of
vine branches was sparkling in the big chimney. A boy of about ten came
to meet me. 'My friend,' I said, 'is this the inn of Monsieur Simon?'"

"'Yes, sir,' he replied, looking at me with soft, dark eyes. I felt as
if I had seen him before."

"What! do you mean----" cried the Marquis.

"Wait, master, wait. I told him that I wanted supper and a bed. The boy
ran toward a little door and called: 'Mamma! Mamma!' A woman appeared in
peasant dress, with dark hair and eyes. She carried a little girl on one
arm. The mother looked about thirty, and the girl was some six years of
age.

"'Take a chair, sir,' said the mistress of the house. 'We will do the
best we can for you.' Then she told the boy to take the horse to the
stable and call his father. I took my seat by the fire and reflected
that Simon would not be likely to know me, if it were he, as he had not
seen me for thirty years. You had bidden me take care not to betray
myself, but I knew that Time had done his work.

"'The country about here looks very dreary,' I said to Madame Simon. She
turned in surp