he consented. "For your sake, Mademoiselle, and in payment
of the debt I owe you, I will go as I came. I shall not see the
Citizen-marquis again. But do you tell him from me that if he sets any
value on his life, he had best shake the dust of France from his feet.
Too long already has he tarried, and at any moment those may arrive
who will make him emigrate not only out of France but out of the world
altogether. Besides, the peasantry that has risen once may rise again,
and I shall not be here to protect him from its violence. Tell him he
had best depart at once."

"Monsieur, I am grateful--very, very deeply grateful. I can say no
more. May Heaven reward you. I shall pray the good God to watch over you
always. Adieu, Monsieur!"

He stood looking at her a moment still retaining his hold of her hands.

"Adieu, Mademoiselle," he said at last. Then, very slowly--as if so
that realising his intent she might frustrate it were she so minded--he
raised her right hand. It was not withdrawn, and so he bent low, and
pressed his lips upon it.

"God guard you, Mademoiselle," he said at last, and if they were strange
words for a Republican and a Deputy, it must be remembered that his
bearing during the past few moments had been singularly unlike a
Republican's.

He released her hand, and stepping back, doffed his hat. With a final
inclination of the head, she turned and walked away in the direction of
the terrace.

At a distance La Boulaye followed, so lost in thought that he did not
observe Captain Juste until the fellow's voice broke upon his ear.

"You have been long enough, Citizen-deputy," was the soldier's greeting.
"I take it there is to be no duel."

"I make you my compliments upon the acuteness of your perception,"
answered La Boulaye tartly. "You are right. There is to be no
encounter."

Juste's air was slightly mocking, and words of not overdelicate banter
rose to his lips, to be instantly quelled by La Boulaye.

"Let your drums beat a rally, Citizen-captain," he commanded briskly.
"We leave Bellecour in ten minutes.".

And indeed, in less than that time the blue-coats were swinging briskly
down the avenue. In the rear rode La Boulaye, his cloak wrapped about
him, his square chin buried in his neck-cloth, and his mind deep in
meditation.

From a window of the Chateau the lady who was the cause of the young
Revolutionist's mental absorption watched the departing soldiers. On
either side of her stood Ombreval