tables, and in the corners of the room a quantity of weapons and stacked
carbines. These things bore witness, though she did not know it, to an
important conference between the leaders of the Vendeans and those of
the Chouans.

The marquis led Mademoiselle de Verneuil to a large and worm-eaten
armchair placed beside the fireplace; Francine followed and stood behind
her mistress, leaning on the back of that ancient bit of furniture.

"You will allow me for a moment to play the part of master of the
house," he said, leaving the two women and mingling with the groups of
his other guests.

Francine saw the gentlemen hasten, after a few words from Montauran, to
hide their weapons, maps, and whatever else might arouse the suspicions
of the Republican officers. Some took off their broad leather belts
containing pistols and hunting-knives. The marquis requested them to
show the utmost prudence, and went himself to see to the reception of
the troublesome guests whom fate had bestowed upon him.

Mademoiselle de Verneuil, who had raised her feet to the fire and was
now warming them, did not turn her head as Montauran left the room, thus
disappointing those present, who were anxious to see her. Francine alone
saw the change produced upon the company by the departure of the young
chief. The gentlemen gathered hastily round Madame du Gua, and during
a conversation carried on in an undertone between them, they all turned
several times to look curiously at the stranger.

"You know Montauran," Madame du Gua said to them; "he has fallen in love
with that worthless girl, and, as you can easily understand, he thinks
all my warnings selfish. Our friends in Paris, Messieurs de Valois and
d'Esgrignon, have warned him of a trap set for him by throwing some
such creature at his head; but in spite of this he allows himself to be
fooled by the first woman he meets,--a girl who, if my information is
correct, has stolen a great name only to disgrace it."

The speaker, in whom our readers have already recognized the lady who
instigated the attack on the "turgotine," may be allowed to keep
the name which she used to escape the dangers that threatened her in
Alencon. The publication of her real name would only mortify a noble
family already deeply afflicted at the misconduct of this woman; whose
history, by the bye, has already been given on another scene.

The curiosity manifested by the company of men soon became impertinent
and almost hosti