Martin; the poor will
expect me; if I go not, many will return empty away."

"They are not wholly fancies, master. Two gentlemen of the Palace passed
to-day, and looking up at the tablet, one wagered the other on the
battle to-morrow between Cerberus and the Golden Dog. I have not
forgotten wholly my early lessons in classical lore," added the dame.

"Nor I, dame. I comprehend the allusion, but it will not keep me from
the market! I will be watchful, however, for I know that the malice of
my enemies is at this time greater than ever before."

"Let Pierre go with you, and you will be safe," said the dame half
imploringly.

The Bourgeois laughed at the suggestion and began good-humoredly to
rally her on her curious gift and on the inconvenience of having a
prophetess in his house to anticipate the evil day.

Dame Rochelle would not say more. She knew that to express her fears
more distinctly would only harden the resolution of the Bourgeois. His
natural courage would make him court the special danger he ought to
avoid.

"Master," said she, suddenly casting her eyes in the street, "there
rides past one of the gentlemen who wagered on the battle between
Cerberus and the Golden Dog."

The Bourgeois had sufficient curiosity to look out. He recognized the
Chevalier de Pean, and tranquilly resumed his seat with the remark that
"that was truly one of the heads of Cerberus which guards the Friponne,
a fellow who wore the collar of the Intendant and was worthy of it. The
Golden Dog had nothing to fear from him."

Dame Rochelle, full of her own thoughts, followed with her eyes the
retreating figure of the Chevalier de Pean, whom she lost sight of
at the first turn, as he rode rapidly to the house of Angelique des
Meloises. Since the fatal eve of St. Michael, Angelique had been tossing
in a sea of conflicting emotions, sometimes brightened by a wild hope
of the Intendant, sometimes darkened with fear of the discovery of her
dealings with La Corriveau.

It was in vain she tried every artifice of female blandishment and
cunning to discover what was really in the heart and mind of Bigot. She
had sounded his soul to try if he entertained a suspicion of herself,
but its depth was beyond her power to reach its bottomless darkness,
and to the last she could not resolve whether he suspected her or not of
complicity with the death of the unfortunate Caroline.

She never ceased to curse La Corriveau for that felon stroke of her
m