--"

"It is useless."

"Let me speak again. My uncle has a kind heart under that hard
exterior. He----"

"A kind heart, indeed," said the old man, smiling grimly, as Marteau
shook his head at the girl he loved so well. "And, to prove it, here."

He extended a sealed paper. Marteau made no effort to take it. He
recognized it at once. For a moment there flashed into the woman's
mind that it was a pardon. But the old man undeceived her.

"Do you give it to him, Laure," he said. "It is that patent of
nobility that he gave up. Acting for my King, who will, I am sure,
approve of what I have done, I return it to him. As he dies with the
spirit and soul of a gentleman, so also shall he die with the title.
_Monsieur le Comte d'Aumenier_, I, the head of the house, welcome you
into it. I salute you. Farewell. And now," the old man drew out his
snuff box, tendered it to the young man with all the grace of the
ancient regime. "No?" he said, as Marteau stared in bewilderment.
"The young generation has forgot how, it seems. Very well." He took a
pinch himself gracefully, closed the box, tapped it gently with his
long fingers, as was his wont. "Monsieur will forgive my back," he
said, turning abruptly and calling over his shoulder, "and in a moment
we must go."

Ah, he could be, he was a gentleman of the ancient school, indeed. It
seemed but a second to youth, although it was a long time to age,
before he tore them apart and led the half-fainting girl away.

CHAPTER XXVI

THEY MEET A LION IN THE WAY

Morning in the springtime, the sixth of March, 1815, bright and sunny,
the air fresh. The parade-ground was filled with troops. There were the
veterans of the old Seventh-of-the-Line, under the young Colonel
Labedoyere. Here were the close-ranked lines of the Fifth regiment,
Major Lestoype astride his big horse at the head of the first battalion.
Grenier, Drehon, Suraif and the other officers with their companies, the
men in heavy marching order, their white cockades shining in the bright
sunlight in their shakos. The artillery was drawn up on the walls, the
little squadron of household cavalry was in attendance upon the Marquis.
His lean, spare figure looked well upon a horse. He rode with all the
grace and ease of a boy.

Yes, there were the colors, too, the white flag of France with the golden
lily in the place of the Eagle on the staff, at the head of the column.
With ruffling of drums and pres