me here. But for him, I had
left Lavedan two days ago. As it is, I tremble for you, but we may
at least hope that my being taken in your house will draw down no ill
results upon you. I shall never forgive myself if through my having
taken refuge here I should have encompassed your destruction."

"There is no question of that," he replied, with the quick generosity
characteristic of the man. "This is the work of Saint-Eustache. Sooner
or later I always feared that it would happen, for sooner or later he
and I must have come to enmity over my daughter. That knave had me in
his power. He knew--being himself outwardly one of us--to what extent
I was involved in the late rebellion, and I knew enough of him to be
assured that if some day he should wish to do me ill, he would never
scruple to turn traitor. I am afraid, Monsieur de Lesperon, that it is
not for you alone--perhaps not for you at all--that the soldiers have
come, but for me."

Then, before I could answer him, the door was flung wide, and into the
room, in nightcap and hastily donned robe--looking a very meagre in that
disfiguring deshabille--swept the Vicomtesse.

"See," she cried to her husband, her strident voice raised in
reproach--"see to what a pass you have brought us!"

"Anne, Anne!" he exclaimed, approaching her and seeking to soothe her;
"be calm, my poor child, and be brave."

But, evading him, she towered, lean and malevolent as a fury.

"Calm?" she echoed contemptuously. "Brave?" Then a short laugh broke
from her--a despairing, mocking, mirthless expression of anger. "By God,
do you add effrontery to your other failings? Dare you bid me be calm
and brave in such an hour? Have I been warning you fruitlessly these
twelve months past, that, after disregarding me and deriding my
warnings, you should bid me be calm now that my fears are realized?"

There was a sound of creaking gates below. The Vicomte heard it.

"Madame," he said, putting aside his erstwhile tender manner, and
speaking with a lofty dignity, "the troopers have been admitted. Let me
entreat you to retire. It is not befitting our station--"

"What is our station?" she interrupted harshly. "Rebels--proscribed,
houseless beggars. That is our station, thanks to you and your insane
meddling with treason. What is to become of us, fool? What is to become
of Roxalanne and me when they shall have hanged you and have driven us
from Lavedan? By God's death, a fine season this to talk of the d