eputy M. le Chapelier and the Paladin of the Third Estate, M. Moreau.
The sergeant was very well informed. He could make a shrewd guess, he
said, with a grin, of the business that took M. Moreau that way so early
in the day.

They left him, to speed on now through the open country, following the
road that continued to hug the river. They sat back mutely despairing,
staring hopelessly ahead, Aline's hand clasped tight in madame's. In the
distance, across the meadows on their right, they could see already the
long, dusky line of trees of the Bois, and presently the carriage swung
aside following a branch of the road that turned to the right, away from
the river and heading straight for the forest.

Mademoiselle broke at last the silence of hopelessness that had reigned
between them since they had passed the barrier.

"Oh, it is impossible that we should come in time! Impossible!"

"Don't say it! Don't say it!" madame cried out.

"But it is long past nine, madame! Andre would be punctual, and these...
affairs do not take long. It... it will be all over by now."

Madame shivered, and closed her eyes. Presently, however, she opened
them again, and stirred. Then she put her head from the window. "A
carriage is approaching," she announced, and her tone conveyed the thing
she feared.

"Not already! Oh, not already!" Thus Aline expressed the silently
communicated thought. She experienced a difficulty in breathing, felt
the sudden need of air. Something in her throat was throbbing as if it
would suffocate her; a mist came and went before her eyes.

In a cloud of dust an open caleche was speeding towards them, coming
from the Bois. They watched it, both pale, neither venturing to speak,
Aline, indeed, without breath to do so.

As it approached, it slowed down, perforce, as they did, to effect a
safe passage in that narrow road. Aline was at the window with Mme. de
Plougastel, and with fearful eyes both looked into this open carriage
that was drawing abreast of them.

"Which of them is it, madame? Oh, which of them?" gasped Aline, scarce
daring to look, her senses swimming.

On the near side sat a swarthy young gentleman unknown to either of the
ladies. He was smiling as he spoke to his companion. A moment later and
the man sitting beyond came into view. He was not smiling. His face was
white and set, and it was the face of the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr.

For a long moment, in speechless horror, both women stared at hi