"Here, take the Citoyenne back to her carriage."

Obediently Guyot led the Citoyenne across the room and out into the
courtyard, and the men, restrained by La Boulaye's severe presence,
dared scarcely so much as raise their eyes to her as she passed out.

"And now to your posts," was Caron's stern command. "By my soul, if you
were men of mine I would have you flogged for this. Out with you!" And
he pointed imperiously to the door.

"It is a bitter night, Citizen," grumbled one of them.

"Do you call yourself soldiers, and does a touch of frost make cowards
of you? Outside, you old wives, at once! I'll see you at your post
before I go to bed."

And with that he set himself to drive them out, and they went, until
none but his own half-dozen remained. These he bade dispose themselves
about the hearth, in which they very readily obeyed him.

On a side-table stood a huge steaming can which had attracted La
Boulaye's attention from the moment that he had entered the room. He
went to peer into this, and found it full almost to the brim of mulled
red wine.

With his back to those in the room, so as to screen his actions, he
had uncorked the phial as he was approaching the can. Now, as he made
pretence first to peer into it and then to smell its contents, he
surreptitiously emptied the potion into it, wondering vaguely to himself
whether the men would ever wake again if they had drunk it. Slipping
the phial into his sash he turned to Mother Capoulade, who had descended
from the table and stood looking very foolish.

"What is this?" he demanded angrily.

"It was a last cup of wine for the men," she faltered. "The night is
bitterly cold, Citizen," she added, by way of excusing herself.

"Bah!" snarled Caron, and for a moment he stood there as if
deliberating. "I am minded to empty it into the kennel," he announced.

"Citizen!" cried the woman, in alarm. "It is good wine, and I have
spiced it."

"Well," he relented, "they may have it. But see that it is the last
to-night."

And with that he strode across the room, and with a surly "Good-night"
to his men, he mounted the stairs once more.

He waited perhaps ten minutes in the chamber above, then he went to the
casement, and softly opened the window. It was as he expected. With
the exception of the coach standing in the middle of the yard, and just
discernible by the glow of the smouldering fire they had built there
but allowed to burn low, the place was untenanted.