realized it much more fully, although even he had not the
least idea of the wide extent and depth of this feeling. But the old
man knew instinctively that he must control things in Grenoble at least
with an iron hand and that no temporizing was possible. The return of
Marteau, who was a man of parts and power, he admitted--he recalled how
well he had borne himself before the little group in the
drawing-room!--followed by the midnight gathering, the joy of the
veterans, their worship almost of the Eagle, enlightened him. He would
put down sedition with an iron hand, he swore to himself. The King had
committed this important place to him. It was, in a certain sense, a
frontier city if the impossible happened. Well, the King should find
that he had not reposed trust in the Marquis for nothing.

So the old man thought as he lay sleepless during the night. He was
not the only one who lay sleepless during the night. Laure d'Aumenier
sought rest and oblivion in vain. She had been more moved by Marteau's
conduct and bearing and presence in the old Chateau d'Aumenier, a year
ago, than she had been willing to admit until she thought him dead.
The Marteaux had always been a good-looking, self-respecting people.
Madame Marteau, his mother, had been an unusual woman who had, it was
said, married beneath her when she became the wife of old Jean Marteau,
although she never in her long married life thought of it in that way.
The present Jean Marteau was as handsome and distinguished looking a
man as there was in France. The delicacy and refinement of his bearing
and appearance did not connote weakness either, as she could testify.

The young woman owed her life and honor to the young soldier. But long
before that chance meeting they had been companions in childhood,
intimate companions, too. The boy had been her servitor, but he had
been more. He had been her protector and friend. In her memory she
could recall incident after incident when he had helped her, shielded
her. Never once had he failed to show anything but devotion absolute
and unbounded toward her.

The proposition of marriage he had made in the old hall, which she had
laughed to scorn, had by no means escaped her memory. She had dwelt
upon it, she had even speculated upon the possibility of an acceptance
of his proposal. Why not? She knew no man more gentle at heart, more
gallant in soul, more noble in spirit than he. That, too, she had
turned over and