hould have passed--which argued a very
condescending humour, for it would not have been out of keeping with
their habits to have ridden headlong through it. Their presence cast
a restraint upon the peasants. The jests were silenced, the laughter
hushed, and like a flight of pigeons under the eye of the hawk, they
scurried past the Seigneurie, and some of them prayed God that they
might be suffered to pass indeed.

Bellecour eyed them in cold disdain, until presently Charlot and his
bride were abreast of him. Then his eye seemed to take life and his
sallow face to kindle into expression. He leant lightly from the saddle.

"Stay!" he commanded coldly, and as they came to a halt, daring not to
disobey him--"approach, girl," he added.

Charlot's brows grew black. He looked up at the Marquis, but if his
glance was sullen and threatening, it was also not free from fear. Marie
obeyed, with eyes downcast and a heightened colour. If she conjectured
at all why they had been stopped, it was but to conclude that M. le
Marquis was about to offer her some mark of appreciation. Uneasiness, in
her dear innocence, she knew none.

"What is your name, child?" inquired the Marquis more gently.

"It was Marie Michelin, Monseigneur," she made answer timidly. "But it
has just been changed to Marie Tardivet."

"You have just been wed, eh?"

"We are on our way from church, Monseigneur."

"C'est ca," he murmured, as if to himself, and his eyes taking such
stock of her as made Charlot burn to tear him from his horse. Then, in a
kindly, fatherly voice, he added: "My felicitations, Marie; may you be a
happy wife and a happier mother."

"Merci, Monseigneur," she murmured, with crimson cheeks, whilst Charlot
breathed once more, and from his heart gave thanks to Heaven, believing
the interview at an end. But he went too fast.

"Do you know, Marie, that you are a very comely child?" quoth the
Marquis, in tones which made the bridegroom's blood run cold.

Some in that noble company nudged one another, and one there was who
burst into a loud guffaw.

"Charlot has often told me so," she laughed, all unsuspicious.

The Marquis moved on his horse that he might bend lower. With his
forefinger he uptilted her chin, and now, as she met his glance thus at
close quarters, an unaccountable fear took possession of her, and the
colour died out of her plump cheeks.

"Yes," said Bellecour, with a smile, "this Tardivet has good taste. My
congratulatio