extenuation of my conduct. It
was like Lavedan. For all that he was full of dread of the result and
of the vengeance Saint-Eustache might wreak--boy though he was--he
expressed himself freely touching the Chevalier's behaviour and the
fittingness of the punishment that had overtaken him.

The Vicomtesse stood in small awe of her husband, but his judgment upon
a point of honour was a matter that she would not dare contest. She
was ministering to the still prostrate Chevalier who, I think,
remained prostrate now that he might continue to make appeal to her
sympathy--when suddenly she cut in upon Roxalanne's defence of me.

"Where have you been?" she demanded suddenly.

"When, my mother?"

"This afternoon," answered the Vicomtesse impatiently. "The Chevalier
was waiting two hours for you."

Roxalanne coloured to the roots of her hair. The Vicomte frowned.

"Waiting for me, my mother? But why for me?"

"Answer my question--where have you been?"

"I was with Monsieur de Lesperon," she answered simply.

"Alone?" the Vicomtesse almost shrieked.

"But yes." The poor child's tones were laden with wonder at this
catechism.

"God's death!" she snapped. "It seems that my daughter is no better
than--"

Heaven knows what may have been coming, for she had the most virulent,
scandalous tongue that I have ever known in a woman's head--which is
much for one who has lived at Court to say. But the Vicomte, sharing
my fears, perhaps, and wishing to spare the child's ears, interposed
quickly "Come, madame, what airs are these? What sudden assumption
of graces that we do not affect? We are not in Paris. This is not
the Luxembourg. En province comme en province, and here we are simple
folk--"

"Simple folk?" she interrupted, gasping. "By God, am I married to a
ploughman? Am I Vicomtesse of Lavedan, or the wife of a boor of the
countryside? And is the honour of your daughter a matter--"

"The honour of my daughter is not in question, madame," he interrupted
in his turn, and with a sudden sternness that spent the fire of her
indignation as a spark that is trampled underfoot. Then, in a calm,
level voice: "Ah, here are the servants," said he.

"Permit them, madame, to take charge of Monsieur de Saint-Eustache.
Anatole, you had better order the carriage for Monsieur le Chevalier. I
do not think that he will be able to ride home."

Anatole peered at the pale young gentleman on the ground, then he turned
his little wizened face