The Launching of Roger Brook

"But Athenais…!" he began in a hurt and puzzled voice.

Her blue eyes flashed. "How dare you call me Athenais! To you I am Mademoiselle de Rochambeau."

"But Mademoiselle!" he protested. "What have I done to bring upon myself your displeasure? Maitre Leger offered me this post and I naturally accepted it."

"Would you have done so had you not thought that it offered you an opportunity to seek my society?"

Roger hesitated only an instant. "No, I would not. But I thought that you would be pleased to see me."

"On the contrary; your presence here embarrasses me exceedingly."

"Why should it?"

"Because you have taken advantage of a kind interest on my part to attempt to force yourself upon me."

"I don't understand," Roger held out his hands in a pathetic gesture. "In those poems I wrote for you I made clear my feelings, and in the note you gave me before leaving Rennes you said how much you wished that we could talk together."

"Surely you had the sense to realise that I meant that only if our circumstances were different?"

"Well, they are different," Roger cried desperately. "Good fortune has provided me with a way through the barrier that kept us apart. I now have a right to be in your house, so why should we not develop our friendship?"

Athenais tapped her foot impatiently upon the floor. "Since you force me to it I see that I must speak more plainly. That night, nearly two years ago, when you took refuge in my coach, I was only a little girl. I carried you home and, with a childish lack of values, insisted that you should dine with us. Even my small brother had the sense to see the unfitness of such a proceeding, but I was always headstrong. Later, it amused me to receive your verses. It had all the strangeness of a fairy tale; 'twas like receiving the homage of a man on Mars. But now, things are entirely different. I am grown up and you are no longer a man living in some strange other world. You are here, in this house, and simply as one of my father's servants. That fact has killed for ever any absurd romantic thoughts that I may have indulged in about you."

Roger stared at her in dismay. It was true that she was no longer a child. She had grown a lot in the past two years, her figure, although not yet fully formed, had filled out in gentle contours; her voice had lost its shrill note and become more melodious. He thought her more than ever desirable but he could not understand her attitude.

"How can you be so unkind!" he burst out. "That I work for your father makes me no other than I was. I am still the same person, and your most devoted slave."

"Monsieur!" she said haughtily. "Will you kindly understand that Mademoiselle de Rochambeau does not accept devotion, in the sense you mean it, from one who sits behind her in the chapel of her home. A person, in fact, who has placed himself on a par with people like Chenou and Aldegonde. 'Tis unthinkable; and your coming here was the worst possible error in good taste. If you wish to revive any spark of good feeling that I may have left for you, the best thing you can do is to pack your bag and leave here to-morrow morning."

Roger went as white as though someone had struck him. For a second he did not reply, then his blue eyes hardened and he snapped: "I'll do no such thing. Your father has given me work to do, and I'll remain here till I've done it."

"So be it!" she snapped back. "But I give you fair warning! If you seek to force yourself upon me I'll secure your dismissal by writing to my father. In the meantime, should we chance to meet about the chateau, you will speak only should I first address you; and you will keep your eyes lowered, as befits your position."

Snatching up a book that she had come to fetch, from a nearby table, she turned on her heel and marched regally from the room.

Poor Roger was quite shattered. In a brief three minutes his whole object in coming to Becherel had been completely nullified. He felt that he would have done better by far to have gone to Paris, where new scenes and people might finally have worked Athenais out of his system. But, having said that he meant to stay on he determined to stick it out, rather than give her the satisfaction of having driven him away.

When Sunday came again it brought him at least the comfort of an unexpected kindness. Madame Marie-Ange met him in the garden. She returned his bow with a pleasant smile and suggested that he should walk with her for a while as she would like to talk to him.

Somewhat surprised he fell into step with her and, after a moment, she said: "I fear, Monsieur Breuc, that you find yourself in a somewhat difficult position here?"

"Not more so, Madame, than I would in any other strange house­hold," he replied, colouring slightly.

"Oh, cornel" she tapped his arm lightly with her fan. "You need have no secrets from me, and I know what is troubling you. Do you suppose I am so blind that I did not see you slip those little notes to Mademoiselle Athenais each Sunday last winter, in St. Melaine?"

Roger's colour deepened to a brilliant pink. "Madame!" he stammered, "Madame, I…"

"Do not seek to excuse yourself," she went on quietly. "Athenais is a haughty and wilful girl, but she has many good qualities and a kind heart. As no harm could come of it I saw no reason why I should deprive either of you of this small pleasure. But, now that you have come to live at the chateau, I trust you will appreciate that, in my position, I could not countenance the continuance of what I have hitherto regarded as a childish frolic."

"Be at rest, Madame," Roger replied gloomily, "Mademoiselle Athenais has already made it clear to me that, now she is grown up, she no longer has any time for my romantic attentions. "

"I guessed as much. Hence your doleful looks, no doubt."

"I take it hardly, Madame, that Mademoiselle will no longer regard me as a friend."

"Did you expect it, then?" asked Madame Marie-Ange, raising her eyebrows.

"Why should I not?" he grumbled. "Because I have taken service with Monseigneur I have not, overnight, acquired bugs in my hair, or lost such culture as I formerly possessed."

"But surely. Monsieur, you realise that the difference in your stations renders such a friendship out of the question?"

"Why should it? You, Madame, are talking to me now with courtesy and kindness. Why should she not treat me in the same fashion?"

' 'Ah, but her situation and mine are far from the same. If I remember, you come from one of the German provinces, do you not? There is in them, I am told, much more freedom of intercourse between the classes; but here etiquette is still most strict upon such matters. My late husband, Monsieur Velot, was a Councillor of the Parliament of Rennes, and so a noble of the robe. Had I a house of my own I might, if it so pleased me, occasionally entertain Maitre Leger to dinner, but Monseigneur would never dream of doing such a thing. He might, perhaps, have entertained my late husband now and then, as a mark of favour; but he accepts me regularly at his table only because I am his daughter's duenna. And you, my young friend, are not even Maitre Leger; you are naught but one of his clerks. So you see what a great gulf there is fixed between you and Mademoiselle Athenais? In view of the little passages which I was indulgent enough to allow to pass between you, I hope you now see what an embarrassment your sudden arrival here has caused her?"

" 'Twas very different where I come from," Roger said, more reasonably. "But now that you have explained matters I do see that Mademoiselle has some excuse for her sudden change of front towards me. To tell the truth she even suggested that I should relieve her of my presence altogether. But I did not feel inclined to leave Becherel except on a direct order from Monseigneur."

"Whether you go or stay is your own affair, providing you do not attempt to overstep the bounds of your position. Be advised by me, Monsieur Breuc, and either leave here now, or make up your mind once and for all that Athenais can never be anything to you."

"Having undertaken certain work for Monseigneur, 'twould be difficult to find a suitable excuse for my sudden departure. I feel that I should stay on, at least until I have made some progress in it."

"In that case, continue to adore Athenais from a distance if you will, but I beg you to refrain from any rash act which would necessitate my asking for your dismissal. Twould be wise to engage your thoughts with other interests, as far as possible."

"I will endeavour to do so, Madame."

As they regained the terrace, Madame Marie-Ange turned and smiled at him. "That is well. It may be that I can help you in that, a little. Athenais practises upon her harpsichord between four and five each afternoon. At that hour you will always find me alone in my boudoir. I usually employ it to read the latest news sheets while drinking a cup of chocolate. If you feel lonely at any time come and join me, and we will talk of the doings of the great world together."

"Madame, you are of the true noblesse," said Roger, and bowing over her hand he kissed it.

In the next fortnight or so he settled down to a steady routine. The documents gave him plenty of mental occupation, as some of them were in semi-archaic writing several centuries old, and needed prolonged study before he felt confident enough about their contents to set down a precis of it in French. When, after several hours of work, he found himself badly stuck he broke off to take a walk round the garden, go for a ride, or, if it were round four o'clock, take a cup of chocolate with Madame Marie-Ange.

The garden he found most disappointing. He had expected that it would be something like those of Walhampton, Pylewell and other big houses near his own home; instead it occupied somewhat less ground than the chateau itself. It had no fine lawns with gracious trees, no shady walks through flowering shrubberies, no herbaceous borders, nor ornamental lakes; it consisted only of a score of formal, box-edged beds, intersected by gravel paths and arranged geometrically about two large stone fountains.

The house, on the other hand, with its marble staircases, painted ceilings and elaborately carved doors must have cost a fortune; and, as he began to find his way about it, he never tired of admiring the splendid tapestries, furniture and objets d'art that it contained.

When he visited Madame Marie-Ange they never spoke of Athenais but discussed the contents of the news sheets, and towards the end of August they learned of an affair that had set all France in a dither. On the fifteenth of that month the Cardinal Prince, Louis de Rohan,

Grand Almoner to the King, had been publicly arrested as he left the chapel of Versailles in his pontifical robes and, by His Majesty's order, imprisoned in the Bastille.

Nothing was known for certain, but the report ran that the Cardinal was accused of having forged the Queen's signature on an order to the Court jewellers, and thereby fraudulently obtaining a diamond necklace valued at one million six hundred thousand livres. What made the affair seem so extraordinary was that de Rohan was one of the richest nobles in France; so rumour already had it that some deep intrigue unconnected with money lay at the bottom of this mysterious affair.

The wrangle between the Austrians and the Dutch had gone on all through the summer, but now Louis XVI had offered himself as a mediator; so it was hoped that with the aid of France a definite settlement might be reached. But Dutch anxieties were, at the moment, being added to by grave internal troubles amongst themselves.

The Stadtholder, William V of Orange, had succeeded his father at the age of three, and his long minority had enabled the Republican party—which was in fact a body of rich, ambitious merchants who wished to replace the throne by an oligarchy—to gain great power. On attaining his majority, in 1766, the Stadtholder had entered into a pact with the Duke of Brunswick, who had previously acted as his Regent, to assist him in governing the country. This was regarded by the Republicans as unconstitutional and, after years of intrigue they had, the previous October, at last forced the Duke's resignation. Abandoned by his minister the weak and inept William now found himself at the mercy of his enemies. A tumult had broken out in the Hague and the States General had deprived him of the command of the garrison; upon which he had taken refuge in Gelderland, one of the few States remaining loyal to him.

From time to time Roger came face to face with Athenais in the house or garden and, while nothing would have induced him to show the servility of lowering his eyes in her presence, as she had ordered, he made no attempt to speak to her. He always bowed politely and she acknowledged his salutations with calm aloofness. But towards the end of September he was destined to see her in an entirely new guise.

It was on a Sunday morning and, on his way to chapel, he slipped on the marble stairs. By grabbing at the balustrade he managed to save himself from falling, but his nose came in violent contact with a nearby pillar, and started to bleed. Thinking it would soon stop he went on to his usual seat between Aldegonde and Chenou, but all through the service the bleeding continued and by its end his handker­chief was soaked through with blood.

Immediately they came out Chenou said: "You must do something to stop that bleeding. 'Tis Mademoiselle's hour in her surgery, so you had best go there at once and let her attend to it for you."

"Surgery!" snuffled Roger, "I did not know she had one."

"Why, yes! 'Tis in the west wing, round by the Orangery. Come, I will take you there."

Roger would have liked to refuse but, as his nose was still bleeding profusely, he did not very well see how he could do so, and as he accompanied Chenou across the courtyard he asked: "How long is it since Mademoiselle has taken to practising medicine?"

"From the time she was quite little, when she used to help her mother," Chenou replied. 'But since Madame la Marquise died, three years ago, she has continued to run the surgery with the aid of Madame Velot. The sick poor from the village come up to the chateau each Sunday after Mass, and she tells them what to do for their ailments."

At the entrance to the surgery they found a little crowd of village people patiently waiting their turn, but Chenou insisted that Roger needed immediate attention and pushed him in ahead of them. The walls of the room were lined with shelves carrying an array of big jars and bottles; behind a heavy oak table Madame Marie-Ange and the Cure were busy handing out ointments and medicines; Athenais, her clothes covered by a white smock, was dressing an ugly ulcer on the leg of an old peasant.

As Roger came in she looked at him in surprise, then, seeing the bloodstained handkerchief he was holding to his face she told the Cure to bandage up the old man's leg for her, and beckoned Roger over.

His nose had now swollen up and his eyes were still watering, so he presented a most woebegone appearance and, although for a moment she tried to restrain her mirth, she could not help laughing at him. He hardly knew whether he was pleased or annoyed, but she could not have been kinder or more gentle as she bathed his face, anointed the injured member with a soothing ointment and, having put a cold-water compress on it, made him lie down on a couch until the bleeding should cease.

It was this episode which convinced him that, if he could only find some way of breaking down this absurd social barrier that lay between them, he might yet gain her friendship and affection. But how to do so seemed an almost insoluble problem.

He thought of seeking her out and telling her the whole truth about himself—that he was, in fact, the son of an English Admiral and the grandson of an Earl; but he had carried on his imposture as a native of Strasbourg for so long that he did not think she would believe him. Once more he began to conjure up fantastic day-dreams in which she was beset by some dire peril from which he rescued her in the nick of time; yet in the quiet, sheltered life that she led at Becherel it seemed that no event could possibly occur that would enable him to draw his sword in her defence.

Nevertheless he began, almost unconsciously at first, to neglect his work in order to seek opportunities of watching her from a distance; and he soon discovered that his best chances of this were when she went out riding. She was always accompanied by a groom and, in any case, he had no intention of forcing himself upon her. But she drew him like a magnet, and, as he could take a horse from the stable at any time, it was easy for him to ride out after her and, while unobserved himself, follow her at half a mile or so for the joy of looking his fiU at her slim, elegant figure.

He was following her in this way one afternoon in mid-October, when he saw that her groom's horse had cast a shoe. After a short colloquy with her the man turned back, and it was obvious that Athenais meant to finish her ride alone, so Roger continued to follow her at a distance.

Some twenty minutes later a peasant child ran out of a hedge, causing the mettlesome mare that Athenais was riding to shy violently. Next moment the mare had bolted.

Roger's heart seemed to leap up into his throat with apprehension, but it was just the chance he had been waiting for to show his prowess and devotion. Spurring his own mount into a gallop he set off after her in wild pursuit.

But for the double hedge, bordering a lane, from which the child had run out, the country was open pasture land. Both horses made good going, but Roger's was the more powerful animal and after covering half a mile he was already gaining on Athenais. She had lost her three-cornered hat and her golden ringlets were flying in the wind, but she seemed to have a good grip of her saddle.

As Roger decreased his distance to her he saw that she was pulling hard on her right rein. Evidently she was trying to steer her runaway mount in the direction of a belt of woodland that lay some three-quarters of a mile away. He imagined that she was counting on the mare slackening her pace, or coming round in a circle, when she saw the barrier of trees. It flashed upon him that Athenais might be carried in among them and dashed from her saddle by one of the low branches.

Spurring his own horse to fresh efforts he came charging up on her right. Heading her off from the trees he forced her mare towards the open country, which continued to the left.

Athenais shouted something to him but her voice was drowned in the thunder of the hoof-beats. Leaning forward he made a snatch at her bridle. At that moment the mare veered still more towards the left, and he missed it.

Again Athenais shouted, but again he failed to catch her words. For two hundred yards they raced on neck to neck. Suddenly he saw a break in the ground ahead. Instantly he realised what Athenais had been shouting at him. Her cry had been a warning: "The river! The river lies ahead!"

He remembered then that a tributary of the Ranee made a wide loop there, running along a concealed gully that threaded the flat plain. Next instant he saw it. The sluggish stream lay between two steeply shelving banks and the horses were now no more than a dozen yards from the verge of the nearest.

There was no time left to bring Athenais's mare down to a canter. Leaning forward again Roger seized her rein and jerked upon it with all his strength. The mare, too, had seen the water. Splaying her forefeet she suddenly stopped dead. Athenais was shot straight over her head and landed with a resounding splash in the river.

Roger was flung forward on his horse's neck, but managed to regain his saddle and, still holding both bridles, slid to the ground. With horrified eyes he watched Athenais. She was in no danger, as the water was shallow, yet had been deep enough to break her fall.

Drenched to the skin, her lovely face blotched with mud and her hair hanging in damp rat's-tails she had picked herself up and, struggling with her long sodden skirts,, was plodding through the slimy mire back to the bank.

He knew that it was his own misdirection of affairs that had led to her receiving this ducking, yet he could not even go to her assistance without risking the horses bolting and leaving them stranded there, miles from home.

Still clutching her riding-switch she staggered from the water and up the slope. Then, her face chalk-white beneath the smears of slime and her blue eyes blazing, she flared at him.

"You miserable fool! I've checked a runaway before now! I would have had my mare under control a mile back, had not the hoof-beats of your horse following behind urged her to gallop faster. And then, of all the senseless idiocy, to ride me into the river! This comes of your spying upon me. Oh, don't deny it! Of recent weeks you've done naught but lurk behind corners and goggle at me from the windows. Think you the servants, too, have no eyes to see such things. I doubt not there is many a jest coupling your name with mine cracked in the kitchen. Oh, 'tis intolerable! I die for very shame to think that such scum should bandy my name about on account of a nobody like you. I hate you for it!"

For a second she paused for breath. Then, lifting her riding-switch, she struck him with it, as she cried: "You wretched upstart! Take that, and that, and that! Then go back and show them your miserable face with the marks of my displeasure."

Again and again her swift-cutting strokes descended on Roger's face, head, hands and shoulders. Letting go the bridles of the horses he strove to protect himself from her furious onslaught, but he could neither fend off nor evade her slashes.

There was only one thing to do. Stepping forward he grabbed her arm and twisted the riding-switch from her grasp.

"How dare you lay hands on me!" she gasped. " 'Tis a crime to lay hands on one of noble blood. I'll have you flogged for that! I'll have the hand that touched me cut off at the wrist!"

"Then have my head cut off as well!" cried Roger, angered beyond endurance. "By God! I'll teach you that you can't strike a free man with impunity! What's more, you arrogant little fool, I'll punish you in a way that will be a lesson to you. Aye, even if I die for it."

Seizing her round the waist he pulled her to him. Grasping her chin with his left hand he forced up her face. Then, he kissed her hard and full upon the mouth.

CHAPTER xv

THE DREAM

F o R a long moment she lay passive in his arms, then she wrenched herself away and stood staring at him. Her eyes were round, not with fright, but with some emotion that he could not analyse.

Slowly drawing the back of her hand across her mouth, she whispered: "You shouldn't have done that. No man has ever done that to me before."

"Then there is less chance that you'll forget it," he said harshly. His face and hands were stinging abominably and thin red weals were springing up in the dozen places where the switch had lashed them. He felt not a twinge of remorse as he went on: "However many Dukes and Princes may kiss you in the future you'll always remember that your first kiss was given you by a servant, an upstart, a nobody. That is, unless you have the sense to realise that if we both cut ourselves your blood would show no bluer than mine; and that 'tis no disgrace to be kissed by a man who loves you."

"If I tell my father of this, he will have you branded with red-hot irons and thrown into prison afterwards," she said slowly.

His bruised lips pained him as he gave a twisted smile. "I know it. I've lived here long enough to realise that the nobility has devised the most fiendish punishments for anyone who lays a finger on their womenfolk. So it seems that my love for you must be mighty desperate for me to have risked that kiss."

" 'Twas not love, but hate, that inspired you at that moment."

"Maybe, you're right. Maybe, though, 'twas contempt for all you stand for; coupled with the wish to melt that stony heart of yours."

"Mount me on my mare," she ordered suddenly.

Obediently, he held out his hand about two feet from the ground; she placed a small foot in its palm and, as he took her weight, sprang into the saddle.

"My whip," she demanded, and added as he gave it to hen "You are not to follow me for an hour." Then, turning her mare, she galloped away.

Left to himself Roger descended to the river's edge and bathed his smarting face and hands. When the pain had eased a little he sat down to consider the possible outcome of his rash act.

Soon after his arrival at the chateau Athenais had had one of the footmen thrashed for spilling a cup of chocolate down her gown; so he felt that she was quite capable of having him branded and imprisoned for his infinitely more serious offence.

At the moment he was still a free man, and so not compelled to return to the chateau. Twilight was now falling, and he had a good horse upon which he could put many miles between himself and Becherel during the night. But he had only a little silver on him and if Athenais requested the authorities to arrest him there was little chance of his being able to get clean away.

He felt, too, that it would be the act of a coward to attempt to run away. By returning to face whatever fate she might decree for him, he could at least show her that he was not lacking in courage; and there was always the possibility that, furious as she might be, she would shrink from humiliating herself further by telling anyone what had occurred, and, rather than that, let the matter drop.

When the hour was up he rode slowly back through the deepening shadows, handed his mount over to a stable boy and went up by the back stairs to his room. On looking in the mirror he saw that his face was a network of angry red weals and he wondered how to account for its condition to the servants. The easiest way seemed to give out that his horse had bolted with him and carried him full tilt into a grove of alders, the springy shoots of which had whipped fiercely at his face as he was swept wildly through them. As the weals were straight, short lines and not the least like scratches the story was somewhat thin, but he was too tired and depressed to worry further over it and decided that it must serve.

However, instead of going downstairs for his supper he went straight to bed, with the idea that the bedclothes would serve to partially conceal his injuries, and that he would remain there till they were better.

In due course, Henri came to inquire why he had not come down for his evening meal, and Roger gave his explanation, adding that he had also hurt his leg, so would probably stay in bed for a day or two. The man brought his supper on a tray and, after eating it, while still wondering what the outcome of the afternoon's events would be, he dropped asleep.

After his petit dejeuner he spent the morning hours in considerable anxiety, listening for any heavy footfalls in his lonely corridor which might herald the approach of a group of servants sent by Athenais to apprehend him. At last, just before midday, the footfalls came.

There was a knock on his door, then, to his amazement, Athenais's clear voice called: "Monsieur Breuc, may we come in?"

"Come . . . come in," he stammered, wondering what on earth was about to happen.

Followed by Madame Marie-Ange, she walked in and said calmly: "I am told that you met with an accident when out riding yesterday. I trust that it is nothing serious, and we have come to attend to your hurts as well as we can."

There was not a trace of expression in her eyes or voice and with a muttered, "No, no, Mademoiselle, it is nothing serious, I assure you," he went on to tell them his version of how he had come by his now empurpled face.

"My, my! How those alder shoots must have stung you!" exclaimed Athenais, after one close look at his injuries. "But this will soothe the angry places they have made," and taking a pot from Madame Marie-Ange she began to apply some of the ointment it contained.

The sympathy of her words was swiftly belied by her actions; as, with her back turned to Madame Marie-Ange, she proceeded to rub the ointment into his cuts as though she was scrubbing a floor.

When she had done, both of them talked to him for a little, then, bidding him stay where he was until he was fully recovered, they left him to his thoughts.

One cardinal fact emerged from this visit. Athenais had evidently decided that it would be best to let sleeping dogs he; so he was not yet destined to have his hand cut off, be branded on the shoulder with a red-hot iron, or cast into a dungeon. Yet he felt that he could hardly regard her ministrations as the offering of an olive branch. They had been much too painful for that. On thinking it over he came to the conclusion that she was very far from being a little fool and, having decided to keep her humiliation to herself, had realised that she must continue to behave towards him in a normal manner; and, in conse­quence, had treated him just as she would any other member of the chateau staff who had been reported to her as in bed as the result of an accident.

Nevertheless, he now began to feel a slight twinge of guilt at his own behaviour, and, as the day wore on, it grew. He did not believe that most girls of sixteen would have been so shattered by a kiss, even if it was their first. He knew that, as she saw things, she had a perfect right to strike him, and he realised now that he had given her real cause for anger by dogging her footsteps, as he had. It had never occurred to him at the time that his actions would be noticed and commented on by the servants, but, of course, they must have seen him lurking in the corridor outside her boudoir and riding out after her in the afternoons. Naturally they would have talked among them­selves, and she had good cause to resent that. In view of the traditional chastity in which young French girls of noble birth were brought up she no doubt regarded his kiss almost in the nature of a rape, and that was far beyond anything that he had intended.

By the following day he had reached the conclusion that she had really acted with extraordinary forbearance in not sobbing out the truth on Madame Marie-Ange's broad bosom, and, without anyone else knowing the cause of the matter, leaving her duenna to order his locking up until the Marquis could be informed of his crime.

In spite of its harsh application, the ointment Athenais had applied to his cuts both soothed and healed them rapidly; so, on the third morning after his whipping, on looking at himself in the mirror, he decided that he might show his face downstairs without arousing undue comment.

Another night of solitude and reflection had reduced him to a definite state of remorse, for what he now thought of as his churlish brutality, so he determined to seek out Athenais and, at the first suitable opportunity, humbly beg her pardon.

His surprise and dismay can, therefore, be imagined when he learnt that she and Madame Marie-Ange had taken coach for Paris on the previous day. According to their plans, as he had understood them, they had not been due to leave Becherel for the capital for another fortnight; so it seemed that Athenais, unable to bear the thought of being reminded of the shame he had put upon her, by seeing him about the place, had devised some way of manoeuvring Madame Marie-Ange into advancing the date of their departure.

Only too clearly he recalled the contents of the note that Athenais had pressed into his hand the previous April. It had said that she would not be seeing him again, as next winter, instead of returning to Rennes she was to be presented at Court. And, as he now realised, once she was established there, the chances of her returning to Becherel for the following summer were extremely slender. Not only had he lost her but she had left before he had had a chance to beg her pardon for his outrageous conduct, and must have carried away with her a bitter, angry memory of him in her heart.

After a few days of acute depression he flung himself into his work again with renewed energy, in an attempt to make up for lost time and keep himself from brooding over her; and soon the mass of old docu­ments were occupying most of his thoughts. As he delved deeper into them the problem of the rightful ownership of the Domains de St. Hilaire began to take on a deep fascination for him. In a few weeks he became a positive mine of information on the genealogical trees of half the great families in western France. Each time he unearthed a new link in the chain he felt a thrill of excitement, and each time he came upon a settlement or will that blocked the claim he was endeavouring to establish he felt as though he had lost a battle.

Now and again the tall, black-bearded Chenou came upstairs to invade his workroom and insist that it was high time he got some exercise. Sometimes they rode together, at others, when the weather was inclement, as the ex-Dragoon was a fine swordsman, they practised their skill with rapier and sabre in the tennis court adjacent to the stables. Monsieur St. Paul had taught Roger some useful thrusts in his academy at Rennes, the previous winter, but Chenou taught him more; and now that the strength of a well set-up young man was added to his agility he was rapidly becoming a really dangerous antagonist.

Occasionally on their rides they halted to take a glass of wine with Monsieur Lautrade, the Marquis's bailiff who lived in a little house in a clearing of the woods some distance from the chateau. Lautrade was a fat, elderly, bespectacled man, kind by disposition but firm by habit, as he had to be in order to extract his master's rents at the dates they were due from the ever-complaining farmers.

On one such visit Roger asked him if the case of the peasants was really so hard as it appeared, and he replied:

"Monsieur Breuc, it varies greatly in different parts of the kingdom. Here in Brittany, in Languedoc and in the German provinces, things are not too bad, because the nobility have managed to retain something of their independence. That makes for good conditions on some estates and bad ones on others; but at least it is better than the rule that maintains in the greater part of France. There, the Intendants wield almost absolute power, and the thousands of petty government servants who work under them is each a little tyrant, producing nothing and living like a parasite on the labour of people who are hard put to it to support themselves.

"Again different systems of tenure have grown up in various areas. In Picardy, Flanders and other provinces of the north, the nobles and clergy are accustomed to let their land in large farms. That is a good thing; such farms are the best cultivated, the farmers become men of substance and their hired labourers are paid a wage which often enables them to save enough to buy a small plot of land of their own. The peasant is always hungry for land, of course. But I am not of the opinion that its possession profits him.'

"Why do you say that, Monsieur?" asked Roger. "I should have thought it a good thing for a man to have a piece of land of his own."

"Experience does not go to show that as far as smallholders are concerned. 'Tis estimated that two-fifths of the kingdom consists of little plots owned by the peasants and 'tis they, not the hired labourer, whose condition is most wretched. Apart from the north all France is honeycombed with these smallholdings which have been acquired piecemeal from the nobles, either on outright payments or on the mitayer system."

"What is that, Monsieur?"

"A mitayer is one who acquires the right to cultivate a piece of land in return for a share of its produce. The system is always unsatisfactory, as the cultivator is naturally tempted to conceal the true bulk of his crops and the landlord, rightly or wrongly, always believes that he is being cheated."

"Even so," remarked Roger, "if the peasants have succeeded in buying nearly half the land in France it does not seem that their condition can be so deplorable."

Monsieur Lautrade nodded. "They would be no worse situated than the peasantry of other countries were they left to go about their work as they wished, and allowed to dispose of their produce as they thought fit. 'Tis the corvie and the droits de seigneur which deprive them of any hope of prosperity and fill them with discontent. By the corvie they may at any time, perhaps at such important seasons as the sowing or the harvest, be taken from their land for enforced labour on the roads, bridges and other government construction. And in many places the droits de seigneur are extremely oppressive.

"Do they vary then? I thought the droit de seigneur was the right of a noble to send for any girl living in one of the villages on his estate, on the night of her marriage, and have her sleep with him whether she was willing or no."

" 'Tis one of the droits," agreed the bailiff, with a smile. "And 'twas exercised, no doubt, in the middle ages. But can you see a fastidious gentleman like Monseigneur taking one of our uncultured village wenches into his bed?"

"I know one or two that I would not mind taking into mine," Chenou grinned.

"You do so, anyhow, you handsome rogue," laughed Lautrade. " 'Tis said that not one of them is safe from you, and that they fall willing enough victims to your fine black moustacbios."

"Aye! I have my share of fun," the chief huntsman acknowledged. But you're right about Monseigneur, and his kind. They have no stomach for such strong, garlic-flavoured dishes and have long since ceased to exercise their privileges."

"I was referring to numerous other droits," Lautrade went on. "There are many and they vary with each manor, but some are common to all. There is the droit de colombier, by which the seigneur may keep as many pigeons as he chooses, which find their food as much in the peasants' fields as in his own; the droit de chasse, which reserves all game exclusively for the seigneur's amusement. Then there are the banalitis which oblige the peasant to send his com to the seigneur's mills, his grapes to the seigneur's wine-press, and his flour to the seigneur's oven. For each such operation a fee is exacted and on badly run estates the work is often ill-done or subject to irritating delays against which there is no redress. In addition there are the plages, or tolls that the peasant is called on to pay whenever he takes a cart­load of produce more than a mile or so from his home. To use every road or cross any river he must pay something either to the Crown, the Church, or to some noble. But you must know this yourself, and that one must also pay to cross each line of customs barriers that separate the provinces from one another. 'Tis this infinity of little outgoings that rob the peasant of his substance."

"It sounds a most burdensome catalogue," Roger agreed. "But surely the noblesse could well afford to give some relief from this local taxation?"

Lautrade shrugged. "The rich ones who live at Versailles know little of the peasants' lot and care less. The rest, and they form the great majority, are mostly too poor themselves to make such a sacrifice. For hundreds of years such families have sent their menfolk to France's wars, and to-equip themselves for each campaign they have been compelled to part with a little more of their land to the thrifty peasants. Now, thousands of them have naught left but a chateau and a few acres of grazing ground. Tis that which makes them so insistent on the retention of their privileges. I know of noble families who eke out a miserable existence on as little as twenty-five louis a year; and if they gave up their droits they would be faced with starvation."

"To my mind, 'tis the restrictions on selling produce that hit the peasant hardest," cut in Chenou. "In a bad season he garners scarce enough to feed himself, so 'tis but fair that when he has a good one he should be allowed to make a bit for putting by. Yet the corn laws forbid him to sell his surplus to the highest bidder, and he is compelled to turn it in at the Government depot for whatever skinflint price the grain ring have agreed to give for it. But come, I must be getting back to take a look at a mare that should be foaling some time to-night."

As he stood up Roger rose with him, and said angrily: "Such measures are iniquitous, and I no longer wonder that so many people curse the government. I doubt if people in any other country would suffer its continuance."

"Nay, take not an exaggerated view," demurred Lautrade, as he escorted them to the door. "Serfdom is now almost abolished in France, and the whole country is far richer than it was half a century ago. The peasants live a hard life but their condition here is better than in any other part of Europe, except perhaps in England and the United Provinces. If you would see real poverty, you should go to Spain as I did, not many years ago, to bring back a fresh supply of trees for Monseigneur's orangery."

Still thinking of these things Roger rode back to the chateau, to find that a letter had arrived from his mother. In it she told him that, after two years at Portsmouth, his father had now been reposted as Rear-Admiral, Channel Squadron; so, as long as no war broke out, his ships would spend a great part of the year in harbour and, to her joy, he could continue to be much at home.

Roger took the news quite casually. Occasionally he still longed to be back in England, but the time had passed when he would have given almost anything to return and have the chance of starting his career again. He now had not only good food and comfortable quarters, but servants to wait on him, horses to ride and a splendid library at his disposal. His task was a fascinating one and he was not tied to it by any regulated hours. His pay of forty louis a year was the equivalent of the salary that, on his last night at Sherborne, old Toby had told him he might hope to receive after getting his B.A. as a tutor to a nobleman's son. It was no fortune, but it was clear gain as he could not spend a single sou of it as long as he remained at Becherel. In the meantime he was, for all practical purposes, his own master and, enjoying as he did the droit de chasse, led a life not far removed from that of the petit noblesse, yet without any of its cares and responsibilities.

By the approach of Christmas he found himself a little jaded from his long hours of poring over the old parchments, and while Chenou was the best of companions with whom to hunt or fence, Roger began to feel an oppressive sense of loneliness during the long dark evenings; so he decided to take a holiday and spend Christmas with the Legers.

He could have ridden in to Rennes but he wanted to take a good supply of Christmas fare to his friends, so Chenou made no difficulty about placing a coach at his disposal; and when he left on the morning of Christmas Eve the coach carried more than his own weight in venison, hares and partridges.

The Legers, Brochard, Manon and Julien Quatrevaux were all delighted to see him and, to his great pleasure, he learned that the latter two had decided to regularise their liaison by getting married in the spring; so Julien, as Manon's fiance, now made one of the family party.

They gave him news of the other friends he had made in Rennes, related to him the latest gossip, and brought him up to date on the affairs of the wider world from which, in recent months, he had been almost completely isolated.

The principal topic of interest was still a flood of rumours in con­nection with the affaire du Collier, as the scandal centring round the stolen diamond necklace had come to be called. It appeared that the necklace had been offered to the Queen, but she had publicly refused to buy it; saying that for a million and a half livres the King could get him a battleship, and that his need of another ship-of-the-line was greater than her need for more diamonds. But, so rumour ran, she had determined to buy this unique collection of gems privately and, as her agent, had used an ambitious and designing woman called the Countess de Valois de la Motte; then, having entered into the bargain, she had found herself short of funds and resorted to borrowing from the fabulously wealthy Cardinal, who was anxious to gain her favour. There seemed no doubt that the Cardinal had received the necklace from the jewellers and sent it to the Queen, imagining that he was acting on her wishes, by the hand of Madame de la Motte; but the Queen flatly denied having received the necklace and ever having entered into any correspondence with the Cardinal.

Madame de la Motte, an adventurer styling himself Count Cagliostro and a courtesan named Mademoiselle Gay d'Oliva, had been sent to join the Cardinal de Rohan in the Bastille; and he, although as a Prince of the Church not normally subject to the jurisdiction of a secular court, was so determined to prove his innocence that he had agreed to submit to a public trial by the Parliament of Paris. All France was agog for the disclosures which it was expected would be made at the trial, as the honour of not only the Cardinal but also the Queen was now at stake.

One evening towards the end of Roger's stay, Brochard took him down to their old haunt for a chat, and asked him how he spent his evenings at the chateau.

"Sometimes I work," replied Roger, "but as the Marquis has given me the run of his fine library, I more often make myself comfortable in there with a book."

For a time they talked literature and on Brochard learning that Roger had been entertaining himself with the plays of Comeille, Racine and Moliere, the serious-minded Bordelais reprimanded him; saying that if he wished to become a lawyer he should use this opportunity to ground himself in sociology, and read such authors as Montesquieu, Dupont of Nemours, de Quesnay, Rousseau, Voltaire, Mirabeau and Mably.

To become a good lawyer was by no means Roger's final ambition in life, but he said that he would be glad to have a list to take back with him as he had no doubt that many of those authors were on the Marquis's shelves. Brochard then asked him if he still took an interest in international affairs.

"As far as I am able to do so," Roger told him, "but since the departure of the family the news sheets no longer reach us. I heard, though, a few weeks ago, from Monseigneur's bailiff that the Dutch affair had at last been settled."

Brochard nodded. "Yes, by the Treaty of Fontainebleau, signed on November the eighth. By it the Dutch have agreed to demolish their forts on either bank of the Scheldt and open the river to the Austrian traffic. The Emperor, in return, has given up his claim to the sovereignty of Maastricht for a payment of ten million florins. The Dutch would go only to five and a half million, so to clinch matters the balance is to be paid out of the French exchequer. 'Tis a great triumph for our Foreign Minister, the Comte de Vergennes, and the peace party."

"I don't quite see why we should have to pay up for the Dutch," said Roger thoughtfully.

"Nor do many other people. There has been a prodigious outcry on that account. Yet had we landed ourselves with a war instead 'twould have cost us a hundred times that sum. 'Twas cheap at the price to my mind. The only trouble is that the Dutch may yet drag us into a conflict if we give full support to their Republican party, who are endeavouring to unseat the Stadtholder, and England comes to his assistance."

"You still feel that another war would spell ruin to France?"

"More so than ever. Since Monsieur de Calonne became Comptroller-General he has launched loan after loan, each offering a higher rate of interest than the last and each less successful than its predecessor. But the country no longer has any faith in the stability of the Government. On the first of this month, as a last desperate measure, he resorted to an attempt to debase our currency. He is offering twenty-five livres for every gold louis having a face value of twenty-four, which is sent in to the mint; and the gold is to be reminted in new louis having a tenth less weight than the old ones. 'Tis the expedient of a bankrupt and it needs but a national calamity of some kind to produce financial chaos."

"Why are the French finances in such a parlous state?" asked Roger. "Cannot the King possibly do something about it?"

Brochard shrugged his broad shoulders. "He could, and has the wish but not the will. He is hopelessly weak and lacks the courage to support those who counsel wise reforms, against the intrigues of the Queen and the nobles."

"Perhaps he fears that if he sponsored measures of too liberal a nature the nobles would rebel against him?"

"They no longer have the power to do so, and the game is in his hands if only he had the strength of mind to play it. When he came to the throne in '74 at the age of twenty, he was full of good intentions. He is of simple tastes and had kept himself unbesmirched by the mire of his grandfather's court. He threw out Louis XV's ministers with the Du Barry and the rest of that licentious rabble. He then had a golden opportunity, but, instead of taking some able economist for his principal minister, he appointed old de Maurepas, a man of over eighty; who had been a minister under Louis XIV, if you please, and had been ousted two generations before by Madame de Pompadour."

Roger nodded as Brochard went on, angrily:

"Then, with the appointment of Turgot as Comptroller-General, he had another chance. Turgot had been Intendant of the Limousin. He was by far the most enlightened of these provincial viceroys, and later was Minister for the Navy. Turgot was, perhaps, the greatest man that France has produced in the present century. He comprehended all the fundamental ills from which the country was suffering and propounded suitable remedies. He was brilliant, broadminded, honest, and the King believed in him; yet he allowed him to be hounded from office. After a period of retrogression, Necker arrived on the scene. He was an incomparably lesser man than Turgot; a slave to his own vanity, and a devotee of compromise who believed in doing things little by little. Yet he was a competent financier and saw the necessity of reform. Again the King had his chance to follow sound advice but, after a few years, he abandoned the Swiss as he had done Turgot. Since then he has allowed himself to be led by a succession of incompetents and, for the past two years, rather than face unpleasant facts he has followed a policy of drift on the advice of Calonne, who is nothing but an unscrupulous speculator."

"What would Turgot have done, had the King maintained him in office?" Roger inquired.

"His policy was no new taxes and no loans. The deficit was to be made good by rigorous economy in the expenditure of the Court and government departments, and the abolition of the hundreds of sinecure offices that carried unjustifiable pensions. He advocated a single tax upon the land and the abolition of all indirect taxation. He wished to remove all restrictions on trade, including corn, and to make all landowners contribute to the public revenue on a scale according to their means."

"That would have meant revoking the privilege by which all persons of noble birth are automatically exempt from taxation."

"Indeed it would. And why not? France now has a population of some twenty-six million. Among them there are a hundred and forty thousand noblesse and a hundred and ninety thousand clergy. The first pays no taxes whatever, the second compromises en bloc for a purely nominal sum. That thirteen per cent of the population, with the Crown, enjoys two-thirds of the wealth of France; yet it contributes next to nothing. Can you be surprised that the country is on the verge of revolution?"

"You really think so?"

"I do. At my club we professional men now talk of little else. The Court has isolated itself and must reform or perish. The monarchy has become the symbol of oppression, and even the nobles regard the King with contempt. Were he different there might be some hope for the regime but his weakness will prove his ruin, and may bring ruin upon all France as well."

Roger was often to remember this conversation, but by the following morning he had dismissed it from his mind and, once more, entered wholeheartedly into the New Year gaieties. He danced a score of minuets, flirted again with several of his past casual inamoratas and enjoyed the hearty laughter at Maitre Leger's hospitable table. When he took leave of these good friends he could not know that he would not see them again until their comfortable world was shattered; and that they would then be hunted fugitives, seeking to escape with their lives from the Terror, which was so soon to engulf the bourgeoisie as well as the aristocracy.

By the evening of 2nd January, 1786, Roger was back at Becherel, greatly refreshed by his break and anxious to take up his intriguing work again. A few evenings later, with Brochard's list in hand, he searched the shelves of the Marquis's library and found quite a number of the books that had been recommended to him. Then, while early twilight still forced him to spend most of his leisure hours indoors, he gave himself up to a study of those works which had played such a large part in rendering the bourgeoisie discontented, and contributed in no small manner to the Revolution.

Montesquieu's Persian Letters he enjoyed; appreciating the spirit of reaction against the vanity and folly of Louis XIV, and his splendid but shallow Court, that animated the book; but he could not get on with the same author's most famous work, The Spirit of the Laws. Quesnay, the enlightened physician of Madame de Pompadour, who had been termed by his followers the "Confucius of Europe" appealed to him as a writer of sound commonsense, as did also Quesnay's friend, the Marquis de Mirabeau. Jean Jacques Rousseau he soon discarded, having formed the opinion that the "Sage of Geneva," with his nonsense about everyone returning to nature, was no more than a sloppy sentimentalist. Mably's ideas that all property should be held in common seemed to him those of a dangerous anarchist. But Voltaire proved a mine of unalloyed delight. The great cynic said so clearly and amusingly just what every broadminded and sensible person felt.

As the days lengthened, Roger began to go hawking and coursing with Chenou again, but somehow it seemed that their sport nearly always brought them near the little river on the bank of which he had had his set-to with Athenais.

The sight of the stream was enough to recall the memory of her to him with poignant vividness, and whenever he thought of her now it was to excuse her conduct there while condemning his own. He argued that she had behaved only in accordance with her upbringing whereas he should have known better than to take such a mean revenge. The fact that she had refrained from charging him with his crime, and a very heinous crime it was under French law, he put down to her generous and Christian spirit; and that she had returned good for evil by coming to dress his hurts made him see her now as a beautiful martyr turned ministering angel. For her to have done so, he persuaded himself, was a certain sign of her forgiveness and he regretted more than ever that she had left for Paris before he had had a chance to beg her pardon on his knees. With every week that passed his longing to see her again increased, and he felt that he would be prepared to suffer any humiliation if only it would restore him to her good graces. But Paris was a far cry from Becherel and any hope of his getting there seemed as remote as if he had desired a journey to the moon.

Towards the end of February he had a dream about Georgina. During his first year in France he had often thought of her, sometimes with a keen surge of physical longing engendered by memories of that unforgettable embrace up in the tower, at others with shame at having failed her so lamentably. Then, as time wore on, her image had come to his mind more rarely, but always with tenderness and happy memories of the countless hours of joyous companionship that they had known together as boy and girl. During those early months, when he had thought of her so frequently, he had always put off writing to her in the hope that if he waited a little longer, when he did write, he would have a better report to give of his affairs; but his situation had improved only by such slow degrees, unmarked by any spectacular triumph, that he had never yet reached a point which had seemed to call for a full disclosure to her of his initial folly, later humdrum existence, and still indifferent prospects.

Yet in his dream he saw her with extraordinary vividness. He could see the rich colouring of her ripe, voluptuous beauty and almost feel her warm breath upon his cheek. Her dark eyes were sparkling with excitement as she reached out and, taking his left hand in hers, drew him swiftly along beside her. He had no idea where she was leading him but he saw that in his right hand he held a thick roll of parchment. Then he found himself in a shadowy room standing before the Marquis, and Georgina's voice came clearly from somewhere in his rear.

"Give it to him!" she was saying. "Give it to him, Roger, darling. 'Tis that way your fortune lies."

Then the dream faded and he woke with a start; yet for a minute he had a strong impression that Georgina was still standing there near him in the darkness.

Now fully awake, he could recall every circumstance of the dream, and more, he was suddenly aware that the roll of parchment he had been carrying was the claim to the Domaine de St. Hiliare.

The Marquis had said that when the work was finished, but not before, Roger was to report to him wherever he might be. He had meant, Roger felt certain, report in writing; but he had not definitely said so. It now flashed into Roger's mind that he could not be blamed if he chose to interpret the order as one to report in person. That would mean his going to Paris, and in Paris he would see Athenais.

He had already translated the greater part of the documents, so the back of the job was broken; but he had yet finally to collate them and make a full, clearly reasoned brief on the whole subject.

From the following morning on he completely abandoned all his other pursuits. Not an hour would he give to hunting, fencing or reading the Encyclopaedists; not a moment to day-dreaming about Athenais. Shut up in his room at the top of the house he laboured with unflagging energy, hour after hour, day after day, from early in the morning until his eyes were blurred with fatigue at night. He knew that he could not set out for Paris one second before the whole tangled skein had been completely unravelled and its threads laid out in lines plain for anyone to see; and every second spent on the work brought him a second nearer to once again beholding his beloved.

For nearly seven weeks he stuck grimly to his task, grudging even the time he had to give to eating and sleeping, but, at last, it was finished. Every document had been numbered and put back in the big chest. A fat folder contained an index to them and a precis of each; and, with a sense beyond his years, he had composed two briefs instead of one. The first was a twenty-five-thousand word history of the claim, besprinkled with genealogical trees, references and quotations from the original material. It was intended for the lawyers who would handle the case, but, foreseeing that the Marquis would probably have neither the time nor the inclination to wade through this long and complicated argument, Roger had prepared a separate statement for him. It contained a clear, concise summary of all the salient points in less than two thousand Words.

On the 16th of April, taking his two briefs and a small valise, Roger set out for Paris. Forthe first stage, into Rennes, he took one of the Marquis's best horses, but he paused there only to eat a quick meal, then went on by post. Travelling light, as he was, he made good going, and along the main roads he found no difficulty in securing relays. Normally, he would have stopped for a few hours in each of the towns through which he passed to see something of them, but obsessed by the one idea that

every mile he covered brought him nearer to Athenais he halted only to eat, sleep and change horses. Vitre, Mayenne, Alencon, Chartres and Rambouillet were all passed by him with unseeing eyes, and on the afternoon of the 21st of April he rode into the crowded, smelly streets of Paris.

Aldegonde had told him how to find the Hotel de Rochambeau, which lay in the Rue St. Honore, hard by the Palace of the Louvre. It was a huge, old-fashioned house with turrets, balconies and upper storeys that overhung a central courtyard.

Handing his horse over to a groom who was lounging there he hurried into the house. He had no thought now for the documents which had cost him such arduous toil, or for the Marquis to whom he was to present them. Yet he dared not ask direct for Athenais and had already made up his mind that the quickest way to secure tidings of her was to pay his respects without a moment's delay to Madame Marie-Ange.

Two footmen were standing in the hall and one of them came forward to ask his business.

"Madame Velot," he almost gasped, "I wish to see her—urgently. Please to tell her that Monsieur Breuc is below and craves permission to wait upon her."

The footman bowed: "I regret, Monsieur, but Madame Velot left yesterday with Mademoiselle de Rochambeau to pass the summer at Becherel."

CHAPTER XVI

THE SECRET CLOSET

I T was a crushing disappointment. With eyes for nothing but the road ahead he must have passed Athenais in her coach somewhere between Chartres and Rambouillet the previous afternoon. Evidently her father had altered his plans for her as, after all, she was to spend the summer at Becherel. If only Roger had known that he might have saved himself the gruelling labour of the past two months. Even had he spread the work over another six months no one could have accused him of idleness, and a whole summer could hardly have passed without his being able to find a means of showing his repentance to the beautiful girl that he loved so desperately. But it was too late to think of that now. His work on the affair of the Domaine de St. Hilaire was completed and he must hand it over to the Marquis.

"Is there anyone else that Monsieur would like to see?" inquired the footman.

"Er—yes," Roger murmured, bringing his thoughts back with a jerk. "Kindly take up my name to M. l'Abbé d'Heury."

Five minutes later he was with the stooping, dark-eyed priest, explaining the reason for his arrival in Paris.

D'Heury said that the Marquis had left that morning for Versailles, where he had his own apartments in the palace, but that he transacted most of his business in Paris and did all his entertaining there, so he was certain to return in the course of a few days. Having taken the two reports for submission to the Marquis he then sent for Monsieur Roland, the major-domo of the Paris establishment, and ordered him to provide anything that Roger might require for his comfort during his stay in the capital.

He was given a room at the top of the house that was pleasantly furnished but had an uninspiring outlook, as its casement windows opened on to some leads beyond which a sloping roof cut off any view of the city. Having travelled light from Becherel he decided to go out at once to buy a few things.

As for many months past he had lived in the depths of the country he found the din and turmoil of the streets a little disconcerting. Paris had seemed huge to him as he had ridden in through its suburbs earlier in the day and on closer inspection it also struck him as having an extraordinarily dense quality. The houses, streets, churches and alleys were packed together as closely as the cells in a honeycomb, and the gabled roofs projected so far over the narrow ways that it was often impossible to glimpse more than a thin strip of sky. The people in the streets had neither the leisurely gait nor the open countenances of the average provincial; with set, intent faces they hurried about their business like a swarm of ants in a nest. Roger lost himself twice in ten minutes, found the facade of the Louvre again and, having completed his purchases, returned to the Hotel.

That evening he dined with the gaunt Abbé d'Heury and got to know a little about him. It transpired that he was a Molinest, and therefore an enemy of the bigoted, spartan Jansenists who had dominated French religious thought ever since the decline of the power of the Jesuits. He appeared to be an ascetic by nature who had become a broadminded man of the world owing to his occupation, and he displayed a masterful grip of both politics and international relations.

Roger also learned a certain amount about the Marquis. M. de Rochambeau was, it emerged, one of the more serious of the Queen's personal friends and stood high in her favour. Her Majesty frequently consulted him on foreign affairs, which were his principal interest, and nearly always adopted his opinion. Thus, while the Comte de Vergennes was the official Foreign Minister and advised the King, M. de Rochambeau often played a more powerful part in shaping the destinies of France, since the Queen, once having made up her mind about a matter, was infinitely more persistent and determined on its execution than her weak-willed consort.

Towards the end of the meal Roger remarked, with as casual an air as he could manage, how sorry he was not to have had the opportunity of paying his respects to Madame Velot before she left for Becherel. His fly produced the information he was seeking.

After cutting himself a slice from a pineapple the Abbé replied: "Indeed, yes. You missed the chance of congratulating her on her good fortune. Her post as duenna has been secured to her for another year by Monseigneur's decision that Mademoiselle Athenais is still too young to marry.'

Striving to keep a tremor from his voice, Roger asked: "Was her marriage under contemplation, then?"

" "Twas Monseigneur's original intention that she should be married this summer, and on her presentation at Court her beauty raised quite a furore. She will also, of course, bring her husband a very considerable dowry; so a dozen great families put forward candidates for her hand; but she will not be seventeen until June, and, on second thoughts, Monseigneur felt that it would be time enough for him to make a final choice of a husband for her next winter."

In bed that night Roger thought over his situation and was far from happy about it. He had lost his chance of a rapprochement with Athenais for many months, if not for good; as he had not now the faintest idea where he would be when she returned to Paris next autumn. Somewhat belatedly he realised that by so speedily completing his work on the Domaine de St. Hilaire he had cooked his own goose. Now the job was done it seemed most unlikely that the Marquis would have any other similar work for him, so the odds were that he would be paid off. That would put an end to his association with the de Rochambeaue family and he would have to seek fresh employment. By writing to Maitre Leger he could, no doubt, get himself taken on as a temporary in Maitre Jeurat's office—the point at which he had had the chance of reopening his bid for fortune nine months before—and to become once more a lawyer's clerk seemed doubly hard after the life he had been leading.

During the two days that followed he continued to take his meals with the Abbe and spent the rest of his time exploring the city. He walked all round the vast block of the Palais du Louvre and the Palais des Tuilleries; went to a Mass in Notre Dame, visited the Churches of St. Roche, St. Sulpice and the Madeleine; and went out to stare at the great pile of the Bastille, with its eight round towers and crenellated battlements that seemed to tower to the skies.

He would have greatly liked to buy himself a new suit, as he had long since grown out of his own clothes and most of the things he was wearing had been bought second-hand from Quatrevaux over a year before, and during the interval he had again grown considerably. However, in view of his once more uncertain future, he thought it better not to risk any major outlay for the moment; but he purchased a pair of smart buckled shoes and had his dark brown hair redressed in the latest style by a barber. On the afternoon of the third day following his arrival the Marquis returned to the capital and, after dinner that night, sent for him.

The Hotel de Rochambeau in Paris was much older than that in Rennes or the Chateau de Becherel, so most of its rooms were neither large nor lofty and Roger was surprised at the spaciousness of the first floor chamber into which he was shown by the servant who had been sent to fetch him. It was low-ceilinged but both long and wide with a row of mullioned windows looking out on to the courtyard. At one end a great map of Europe almost covered the wall; at the other the Marquis was working at a desk inlaid with tortoiseshell. The centre of the room was occupied by a large oval table and on the wall facing the row of windows there were more maps as well as a case filled with sombrely bound reference books; all of which gave the place more the atmosphere of a council chamber than a workroom or library.

On Roger making his bow the Marquis did not invite him to sit down, but the normally haughty expression of his aquiline features relaxed and his voice was affable as he said:

"Monsieur, I have read your abbreviated report and spent half an hour glancing through the big brief that you have compiled. I consider that both are excellent. It will take some months for my lawyers to examine them and pronounce as to if they form a basis for an action which I may hope to win, but you have prepared the ground most admirably. You have also dealt with the matter much more speediy than I had any reason to expect, and I am very pleased with you."

Roger bowed again. "Monseigneur; to some, such work might seem dull, but I have found it of engrossing interest. I am, too, fully convinced that your claim is a sound one, and I wish you all good fortune with it."

"Eh?" The Marquis had opened a drawer in his desk and thrust a hand inside. He was not used to being wished good luck by his employees and looked up with a faint astonishment in his blue eyes.

"Er, thank you,"' he murmured, after a moment; and withdrawing his hand he threw a small, fat leather bag that clinked upon the desk, as he added: "There are a hundred louis for you as a reward for your diligence. You will need some new clothes if you are to remain in Paris. Or would you rather return to Brittany and Maitre Leger's office?"

As Roger picked up the bag it flashed upon him that the Marquis was offering to retain him there in his employ. The gift and the offer seemed almost too good to be true. Flushing with pleasure, he exclaimed:

"Why, no, Monseigneur! I would much prefer to continue here in your service. And for this generous present I am most grateful."

The Marquis waved his thanks aside. "D'Heury lost his assistant some weeks ago, and I promised I would find him another. Anyone who can write so succinct a report as you have done must be well qualified to fill the post. What salary have you been receiving?"

"Forty louis per annum, Monseigneur."

"Tell d'Heury that in future I wish you to receive a hundred and twenty. You will find Paris more expensive in every way than Rennes, and at times you will be required to wait upon me with despatches at Versailles. As one of my secretaries I wish you to make a good appearance. Go now, and place yourself at d'Heury's disposal."

Still overcome by his good luck Roger bowed himself out of the room. D'Heury, who had become quite well disposed towards him in the past few days, received the news with satisfaction and suggested that before settling down to work Roger should take the following day off to equip himself for his new position.

When he awoke next morning Roger thought for a moment that his interview with the Marquis could only have been a dream, but there, under one side of his pillow, was the fat little bag of golden louis to confirm the sudden stroke of fortune that had lifted him from the prospect of being an out-of-work lawyer's clerk to a permanent secretaryship with a rich and powerful noble. Recalling his dream in the previous February about Georgina, he felt now that it had clearly been in the nature of a glimpse into the future. It was true that his object in coming to Paris had been to see Athenais, and he had failed in that, but in the dream there had been no thought of Athenais, only Georgina urging that in completing his work on the Domaine de St. Hilaire lay the road to fortune. He felt that now, at last, he could write a full account of himself to her without shame, and determined to spend the next few evenings doing so.

In addition to his hundred louis bonus he had over thirty louis saved from his time at Becherel; and now he was to receive a salary of ten huts a month—as much as he had been paid a year when he had started with Maitre Leger. He had never before possessed so much money and decided that he could well afford to spend lavishly for his own pleasure, as well as to do the Marquis credit. But he also thought that his old things might still come in useful, so, before going out, he wrote to Aldegonde, asking that his sea-chest should be forwarded to Paris.

That day he ordered three new suits with waistcoats of flowered satin, lace jabots and ruffles, silk stockings, a new hat, a pair of evening shoes, ribbons for his hair, a gilt-topped malacca cane, and a quantity of underclothes. With great impatience he waited until all these garments were delivered, then astonished the Abbé one day by appearing like a butterfly that had just emerged out of a chrysalis. From that time on he developed a sudden taste for dandyism and spent a good part of his salary on self-adornment; so that, with his tall, slim figure and dark good looks, he would, had it not been that he wore no sword, have been taken everywhere for a young noble.

Meanwhile, d'Heury was teaching him the minor duties of a private secretary. These proved, at first, a little disappointing, as the Abbé retained all important matters in his own hands, delegating to Roger only such things as purchasing stationery, affixing seals to letters, reporting on appeals for charity and getting out invitations whenever the Marquis entertained; but soon he was entrusted with interviewing casual visitors and occasional missions which took him to other great houses in Paris and out to the Palace at Versailles.

That spring another drought caused a great shortage of meat. Beef had risen from eleven to sixteen sous a pound and the butchers in the poorer quarters had been forced to close their shops. There was great grumbling about this and Roger could not wonder when, he actually saw something of the unbridled extravagance in which the Court lived.

In order to maintain the standard of splendour first set by Louis XIV hundreds of nobles, thousands of servants, whole regiments of guards and a legion of hangers-on from all classes, fed each day at the King's expense. The dining and mess rooms of the vast palace were never empty, and the food served in each differed only in the degree of culinary art devoted to its preparation; from the highest to the lowest meat, fish, butter, eggs and wine were to be had in unlimited profusion.

As a spectacle the Court never ceased to intrigue him. He had not the entree to the great apartments where the richly-clad host of lords and ladies dined, danced, gambled and flirted each night, but he could watch them arriving and departing at all hours in a never-ending stream of coaches, gaze his fill at them as they made their way up the great marble staircases, and look out upon them from the windows as, more colourful than the flowers, they strolled in little groups about the mile-long formal garden that Le Ndtre bad laid out at the back of the palace.

On the nth of May the King was to inspect the French and Swiss guards, so Roger asked for the day off, and d'Heury gave it to him quite willingly. It was the first time that he had seen Louis XVI and as he had expected, the King did not cut an impressive figure. He was a fat, ungainly man with a large pasty face and, perhaps owing to his bulk, he looked much older than his thirty-two years. The Queen, on the other hand, Roger thought both regal and beautiful. As she drove by in her carriage he was near enough to see that she had blue eyes and an aquiline nose, and he thought that when Athenais reached the age of thirty she would be very like her.

Roger was now getting to know most of the Marquis's principal friends by sight, as he shaped a workroom with d'Heury which served as an ante-chamber to the Marquis's sanctum, and all visitors had to pass through it.

M. Joseph de Rayneval, the premier commis of the Foreign Ministry, was a very frequent caller, and it did not take long for Roger to discover that this high official was working hand-in-glove with the Marquis against the interests of his own master, the Comte de Vergennes. There also came to the house fairly often the Due de Polignac whose beautiful wife was the avowed favourite of the Queen; the energetic Marechal de Castries, Minister for the Navy. M. Berard, head of the French East India Company; the Baron de Breteuil, Minister for Paris; the Due de Coigny, another close friend of the Queen, and her most trusted adviser, the Comte de Mercy-Argenteau, Austrian Ambassador to France.

There were two others who called with some frequency, to one of whom Roger took an instinctive dislike and to the other an instinctive liking.

The first was the Comte de Caylus. He came of an ancient family and possessed estates both in Brittany and in the French West Indies. His revenues from his slave plantations in Martinique and Saint Domingue were said to be immense, but with them he had also inherited a dash of black blood from a mulatto mother. He was in his late forties; a vigorous and powerfully built man with thick lips, a sallow skin and a flattened nose. He treated his inferior with all the arrogance habitual to the great French nobles and, in addition, had a coarseness of manner quite unusual among them. However, M. de Rochambeau always received him with great cordiality, as they had many interests in common; both came from the same province and both were fervid imperialists, it being de Caylus's most cherished ambition to bring the whole of the West Indian archipelago under French domination.

The second was the Abbé de Perigord or, as he was often called, L'Abbé du Cour. He was of middle height, a little over thirty years of age and had a curiously attractive face. His eyes were blue-grey, his nose slightly tip-tilted, his hair fair and his expression piquant. He never dressed as a churchman but in the height of fashion, and whenever he moved he leaned gracefully upon a cane, as he was a permanent cripple, his right leg being shorter than his left.

D'Heury did not care for him, and said that, even in this age, when it was regarded as normal for a rich prelate to keep a mistress, de Perigord's life was a flagrant scandal, since he not only lived openly with the young and beautiful Countess de Flahaut, by whom he had had a son, but he was one of the most dissolute roues in all Paris. Moreover, he was an intriguer of the first water who was clever enough to keep in with the Queen's party on the one hand while being on the best of terms with the Due d'Orleans, the most deadly enemy of the Court, on the other.

Roger, however, took a great liking to the lame Abbé as he thought him, outwardly at least, all that an aristocrat should be. Not only did he, with his delicate hands and gentle smile, look the part, but his manners were a model of easy courtesy and he always had a kind word for everyone. It was not until some time later that Roger learned that de Perigord's first names were Charles Maurice de Talleyrand.

Finding Roger willing and intelligent d'Heury began to entrust him with a certain amount of the Marquis's correspondence. Roger was given the gist of what was required to be said, wrote the letters and took them in to M. de Rochambeau for signature. It was this which led to his being initiated into one of the secrets of the household.

Beyond the ante-room in which the secretaries worked there was a smaller room which contained a number of presses and had no exit. Roger had often seen d'Heury disappear into it for ten minutes or more and had thought that he was busy filing papers there; but, on Roger's promotion to handling correspondence, the round-shouldered Abbé revealed to him a short cut to getting the documents signed. One of the presses had a false back, the wall behind it was very thick and had been hollowed out to form a small closet; the panel at the far side of the closet was another secret door, which opened into the Marquis's sanctum at its far end, just opposite his desk.

As d'Heury explained, this secret entrance enabled the secretary to communicate with the Marquis, if he wished, about any visitor who might be in the ante-room without the visitor being aware that he had done so; and could always be used unless the Marquis had someone with him. In that case it was M. de Rochambeau's custom to push over a switch beneath his desk, which had the effect of locking both the panel in his room and the door of the press, so that no one could get into the closet and overhear what might be passing between his visitor and himself.

On the 1st of June the decisions of Parliament regarding the prisoners on trial for complicity in the affair of the Diamond Necklace were at last made public. The Cardinal de Rohan, Count Cagliostro and Mademoiselle Gay d'Oliva were declared innocent and set at liberty; but Madame de la Motte was condemned to be whipped, branded upon both shoulders and imprisoned for life.

The populace of Paris received the verdicts with the wildest enthusiasm, and gave the Cardinal as great an ovation on his release from the Bastille as though he were a victorious General returning from the wars. They were inspired to this, not from any especial love for the Cardinal, but because they took the verdict to imply that since he was innocent the Queen must be guilty, and the unfortunate Marie Antoinette had already become the most hated woman in France.

That the Queen was, in fact, blameless there could be little doubt; as the letter purporting to come from her authorising the Cardinal to buy the jewels on her behalf was signed Marie Antoinette de France, and, as even the dull-witted King had pointed out, being by birth an Arch-Duchess of Austria, she always signed herself Marie Antoinette d'Autriche. Nevertheless, the most slanderous rumours were rife, alleging that the Queen had been the Cardinal's mistress, that he had given her the necklace as the price of her virtue and that, when the transaction had come to light, he had nobly allowed himself to be brought to trial and kept his mouth shut in order to save her honour.

The truth, as known to the Queen's intimates, was that she had taken a strong dislike to de Rohan when she was a girl and he the French Ambassador at Vienna. Little thinking that she would later become Queen of France he had made some witty but disparaging remarks about her, and she had sworn never to forgive him. She had, indeed, never done so, but he had tried to buy her favour back by purchasing and sending her the necklace. It had, however, been stolen by his emissary, Madame de la Motte, in transit, and so the Queen had never even known of his intention.

D'Heury, having had the inside story from the Marquis, told it to Roger and they agreed, like everyone else who knew the truth, that the one thing which stood out in the unfortunate affair was the incredible stupidity of the King in ever allowing the matter to form the subject of a public trial, as anyone but a half-wit could have foreseen that, since the Queen could not also be tried and vindicated, it must inevitably lead to her being pilloried.

On the 20th of June, the King set out with his Ministers of War and Marine, the Marshals de Segur and de Castries, to make a personal inspection of the new harbour-works at Cherbourg, and Roger had good cause to remember the date, as it was on that evening that the most unforeseen events occurred to play havoc with the new routine into which he had now settled.

When the Marquis was in residence and working late it was customary for his two secretaries to take it in turn to go down to supper, so that one or the other should always be available to attend upon him. On this particular evening Roger had already supped and, a little before nine, d'Heury had gone downstairs; but, before handing over, he had neglected to tell his junior that some ten minutes earlier he had shown a visitor in to the Marquis. Having some letters for signature Roger was about to take them in as usual through the secret entrance. It was only when he had stepped into the closet and heard voices on the far side of the panel that he realised that M. de Rochambeau was not alone.

It flashed upon him that he would not have been able to get into the closet had not the Marquis overlooked turning the switch which automatically locked it on both sides, and he knew that he ought to withdraw; but, just as he was about to do so, the visitor who was with the Marquis said:

"I do not agree that the conquest of England is an essential to France achieving undisputed first place in the world's affairs."

The voice came so clearly that Roger recognised it at once as that of the Abbé de Perigord; and the subject of the conversation immediately caused his curiosity to overcome his scruples about eavesdropping, so he remained where he was.

The Marquis replied: "My dear Abbé, whichever way we turn we find the English barring our path. What alternative have we but to build up our strength until in another war we can finally overcome them and make their rich dominions our own. 'Tis that or resigning ourselves to watching France become moribund and bankrupt."

"Nay," said the Abbé, "there are other courses which might yet save us from our present distress. To wage another war with the English would at best be a desperate gamble. Their population is barely the half of ours, yet time and again they have proved terrible antagonists. They have an unreasoning and tenacious courage for which their national bulldog is an admirable symbol. I'd not tempt fate, but seek, as M. de Vergennes is at present doing, a new and better understanding with them."

"But where can that lead us?" the Marquis asked. "Their field of supply is now infinitely more widespread than ours; their industry rests upon a sounder basis; the goods they turn out are of better quality. How can we possibly compete with them? The contemplated treaty for commercial reciprocity which should have been signed over a year ago, would mean virtual free trade between the two nations. For eighteen months I have fought, and succeeded in postponing, this measure, from a most positive conviction that it would prove the final death-blow to French commerce."

"It would not be so," the Abbé remarked quietly, "if it were entered into with a secret understanding that Britain should supply us with all the goods we needed, while leaving us a free hand to market both their wares and ours throughout the rest of Europe."

"You talk in riddles, Abbey M. de Rochambeau laughed. "Twould be our salvation, indeed, were we the emporium of Europe; but what possible inducement could we offer Britain to give us a monopoly of her Continental trade?"

"She would have no option if the major portion of the Continent were brought under our control."

"What! Would you have us go to war with half a dozen nations rather than with one?"

"Yes; since the one is strong and united, while the others are weak and divided against themselves. Britain is a sea-power, so I would leave her to develop overseas and make her our friend by becoming her biggest customer. France is a land-power, and she should seek new wealth through the expansion of her frontiers."

"Even with England as our ally, 'twould mean a long series of most costly campaigns," demurred the Marquis.

"Not necessarily. Europe is suffering from fin de siecle and every country in it now seethes with political unrest, which we could turn to our own ends if we played our cards skilfully. The Catholics of the Austrian Netherlands intensely resent the reforms forced upon them by the Emperor Joseph, and the country is ripe to break away from him. The States-General of Holland is already in open revolt against the Stadtholder and contemplates an attempt to replace his regime with a republic. The King of Prussia is, as we know, on his death-bed. The Great Frederick will wage no more victorious campaigns and there is a strong party that regards his heir-apparent with considerable aversion. The Princelings who rule the German States can always be played off against one another. The Italian States and the two Sicilies are rotten to the core. Hungary is in a state of acute unrest owing to the Emperor's passion for uniformity and his attempt to force German administration and the German language upon it. Russia alone presents no weakness and, like England, should be left to develop outwardly; in her case towards Asia and the dominions of the Grand Turk, whose measure she seems already to have taken."

"And what do you deduce from all this?" the Marquis inquired.

"Why, that France should use the discontented elements in all these countries as her stalking-horse. We should fan the flames of revolt in each until civil war breaks out; then qn the pretext that we intend to 'protect' their inhabitants from oppression we should send troops to their assistance. Once in they would not find it easy to turn us out and we could ensure in them the establishment of new governments favourable to our own designs. They would keep their independence, nominally, but, henceforth, they would actually be protectorates, with rulers dependent on the good will of France. By this means, in a dozen years, we could gain control of the greater part of Europe. It would be necessary to support the discontented minorities financially and to supply them in secret with arms; but we should regard each of them as though they were French armies already established in the heart of the countries we mean to dominate. They would, in fact, be the secret columns of France."

There was a moment's silence, then the Marquis said: "What a subtle brain you have, my dear Abbé. You should have been a diplomat instead of a churchman and I wonder that you do not seek office with a view to becoming a minister of the Crown."

The Abbé de Talleyrand-Perigord's voice came again and it was bitter. "I thank you, M. le Marquis, but I have no wish to serve a Court that has already treated me so scurvily."

"To what do you refer?"

"Surely you must have heard of the manner in which I was deprived of my promised Cardinal's Hat. Madame de Brionne obtained the interest of the King of Sweden on my behalf. Gustave III used his influence with the Pope and His Holiness agreed that the vacant Hat should be bestowed upon me. Then the Queen learned of the affair. She instructed the Comte de Mercy to press her brother that he should insist 'twas Austria's turn to receive the dignity; and Pius VI, weakling that he is, gave way to the Emperor. Queens who behave so to their subjects cannot expect their loyal service."

"You must remember," said the Marquis coldly, "that her Majesty is a model wife and mother; and that to maintain a high moral tone at her Court is a thing very near her heart. Your private life, Abbé, is no recommendation to a Cardinal's Hat, and no doubt the Queen quashed it on that account."

"Nay; my life is no worse than that of many another whom family considerations forced into the Church against their will. 'Twas the Queen's vindictiveness, and this accursed affair of the Diamond Necklace. She is not content to have banished de Rohan to an Abbey in Auvergue, although he was declared innocent by his judges; she pursues all who stood by him with her hate. Madame de Brionne is a Rohan by birth, so even I, as her protege, must suffer for the folly of the King in ever making the matter public. I repeat, I have no further mind to serve a half-witted man and a capricious woman."

When the Marquis next spoke the listening Roger could tell that he was very angry but striving hard to control his temper, as he said:

"A Cardinal's Hat is no small thing to lose, and I sympathise with your disappointment. But, Monsieur l'Abbé, I wish that you would reconsider your decision. We live in most troubled times and 'tis of great importance that, whatever our personal feelings may be about the Sovereigns, we noblemen should give them our fullest support. Otherwise the whole, regime may be brought into jeopardy."

"And what if it is?" The Abbé's voice was tinged with a mocking cynicism. "You, Monsieur le Marquis, are now, I fear, too old to adjust yourself to new conditions. But that does not apply to me. Whatever changes may occur I shall find my level at a place for which my abilities fit me; and it may well be that under new masters I shall find the scope to serve France far more effectively."

"So be it then," replied the Marquis in a frigid tone. "Let us revert to the business that brought you here. You persuaded M. de Calonne to send the Comte de Mirabeau to Berlin, on a special mission to report on how long King Frederick can be expected to live, and how Prussian policy may be affected by his death. You arranged that M. de Mirabeau should send you his despatches for transmission to M. de Calonne, and agreed with me that, for a certain price, you would provide me with copies of those despatches before the Minister has sight of them. Are you prepared to carry out our bargain?"

"Yes; since I gave my word upon it and need the money. But 'tis the last thing I'll do which may benefit the Queen."

"Have you the despatches with you?"

"No. They are at my house in Passy. I am come from the Palais

Royale and learnt of their arrival only from a servant who came to find me there upon another matter. But I am told that the packet is a bulky one, so someone may have to give several hours to copying its contents to-night—if the copy is to be of any value—since I must lodge it with M. de Calonne not later than midday to-morrow. I have to return to the Palais to sup with His Royal Highness; and, in any case, I have no mind to copy lengthy documents. My coach is below and I came here to suggest that you should send one of your secretaries back with me to Passy, to do the copying."

"That, I can easily arrange," agreed the Marquis, and he rang a bell on his desk.

Treading gingerly, Roger stepped out of the closet, closed the door of the press and hurried round into the Marquis's room by its main door.

"Where is d'Heury?" the Marquis asked with a frown. "He is still at supper, Monseigneur," Roger replied. "Shall I fetch him for you!"

"Yes—no! Wait one moment. L'Abbé de Perigord requires some copying to be done at his house in Passy. 'Tis thought it may take several hours and I am anxious to receive the copy as soon as possible. 'Twould halve the time if you and d'Heury both go, and divide the work between you. Tell d'Heury my wishes when you get downstairs."

"Your servant, Monseigneur," Roger laid the letters he was still carrying on the Marquis's desk as the two noblemen took leave of one another; then, adjusting his pace to that of the lame Abbé, he followed him from the room.

Having collected d'Heury they entered the Abbé de Perigord's coach and set out for Passy. It was now about a quarter to ten and, although near the longest day in the year, a bluish dusk obscured the streets except where corner lanterns were already lit. The two Abbes were occupying the rear seat of the coach with Roger seated opposite them, his back to the horses. He knew that they had a drive of between two and three miles before them and while the other two talked in low voices he settled down to think about the long conversation he had just overheard.

It was more than a year since he had sent intelligence of M. de la Perouse's project of colonising New Zealand to Mr. Gilbert Maxwell, and since doing so he had not encountered anything that he felt might be likely to interest that mysterious gentleman. Then, for an exciting few moments to-night, he had thought that chance was about to reveal to him the inner secrets of France's policy towards Britain. Yet, on consideration, he realised that he had actually learnt nothing. He had already gathered that the Marquis was a rabid imperialist, but he held no official position and represented only the opinion of a small clique of nobles at Court; while the Abbé de Perigord was even further removed from being a Government spokesman, and the full potentialities of his extraordinary scheme for developing "secret columns" devoted to France's interest in other countries had not, as yet, impinged on Roger's mind.

Whatever the Queen's motive for preventing the Abbe1 from receiving his Cardinal's Hat, Roger could not help feeling that he was no fit candidate for it. Rumour had it that he had recently been caught out using Government funds for improper purposes and that only his great influence with many highly placed ladies had saved him from being consigned to the Bastille. And Roger now knew for certain that he was flagrantly betraying M. de Calonne's confidence by selling copies of secret documents which were intended for the Minister's private eye. Yet, all the same, Roger could not help feeling attracted to the lame Abbé; he was so kind, so gay, so witty, and altogether such a fascinating personality.

At a fast trot the horses drew the well-sprung coach along the north bank of the Seine and right round the great bend of the river to the west of the city, until the streets gave place to tree-lined avenues and big houses set in private gardens. Across the river the lights of the Invalides and the Ecole Militaire could be seen, then, as they came opposite the Isle of Swans, they turned west entering the semi-open country that lay about the Uttle village of Passy.

They were within a few moments of their destination and passing a dark belt of trees when they heard a shout, the horses reared and the coach was brought to a sudden halt.

"Mort dieu! We are beset by footpads!" exclaimed de Perigord.

He had scarcely spoken when masked faces appeared at both windows of the coach, the doors were wrenched open and two evil-looking ruffians covered the occupants with their pistols.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ATTACK ON THE COACH

THE moon had not yet risen and, owing to the overhanging branches of the trees, the afterglow of the summer night did little to lighten the darkness in the lane where the coach had halted. The light was only just sufficient for Roger to make out the faces of the two Abbes opposite him as whitish blurs in the blackness; but he could see a little more of the men who had held them up, as each stood framed in one of the doorways of the coach. Both were masked and each was threatening one of the Abbes with a brace of pistols.

"Out with your purses!" growled the taller of the two, who was standing on d'Heury's side of the vehicle.

D'Heury made a movement to obey; but de Perigord rapped out another oath, and snapped: "Have a care, rogues! I am no rich bourgeois whom you can rob with impunity. Lay a hand on me and I'll have M. de Crosne's police search all Paris for you, and come to see you broken on the wheel for it."

Roger tensed himself. He was unarmed, but if de Perigord meant to put up a fight he was ready to join him in it. He did not think that either of the highwaymen had yet noticed him and kept very stfll, hoping to be able to take the man nearest him by surprise when the time came to fling himself into the fray.

De Perigord had hardly uttered his threat before the spokesman of the pair took him up.

"So you resist!" he rasped; and, without more ado, pulled the trigger of one of his pistols. A streak of flame issued from its barrel towards d'Heury. By the flash Roger saw the fear in the Abbé’s eyes; then heard him cry out. Throwing himself forward he knocked up the other man's pistol, just as he fired, and the bullet thudded harm­lessly into the upholstery above de Pe'rigord's head.

With a curse the footpad turned his second pistol on Roger. His companion fired again at d'Heury. Again, by the flash, Roger caught an instant's glimpse of the interior of the coach. D'Heury lay slumped in his corner. De Perigord had pressed a spring in the handle of his cane and was in the act of drawing from it a long, glittering poignard.

As Roger's glance switched, a second before the blackness descended again, he found himself staring down the barrel of the pistol. He jerked himself aside and, at the very second it went off the Abbé's deadly weapon sank into the man's neck. A blinding flash eclipsed Roger's sight, and he felt a blow on the head like a hit from a hammer. It threw him violently backwards, then he seemed to be falling into a pit of blackness.

When he regained partial consciousness he knew that he was lying in a comfortable bed, but he had no idea how he had got there. His head ached intolerably, and someone was adding to its pain by moving it about. From a long way off the voice of the Abbé de Perigord reached him.

"Nay, surgeon," the voice said, "I'll not let you shave off one hair of his head more than is absolutely essential. He is a handsome fellow and those blue eyes of his must play the very devil with the women. But I'd have you know that he saved my life a while back. 'Twould be an ill return on my part to allow his appearance to be spoilt and. maybe, lose him his latest mistress."

Blackness then again engulfed Roger and when next he came to it was morning. On opening his eyes he saw that he was in a pleasant room with a tree outside its low window. Beside his bed sat a rosy-cheeked woman who was busy sewing. When she noticed that he was awake she smoothed out his pillows, gave him a drink of milk and bade him go to sleep again. He obediently shut his eyes and, before he had had time for any but the vaguest thoughts, he dropped off.

When he woke some hours later he felt perfectly well except for a dull pain in his head. He sat up and with a smile at his nurse told her that he felt hungry. She propped his pillows round him, warned him to remain quiet and left him for a while, to return with a light meal of eggs and fruit upon a tray.

After he had eaten he dozed for a little, and when he roused again it was at the rattle of rings as the nurse drew the curtains across the window, so he knew that it was evening. Soon afterwards the Abbe1 de Perigord came into the room. With a smiling word to the woman he sent her outside; then, leaning gracefully on his cane, he looked down at Roger, and said, slowly:

" 'Ow—do—you do? I 'opes you are better."

It was just on three years since Roger had heard a single word of English spoken, but the reflexes in his still woolly brain caused him to reply in that language: "Thank you; I'm none too bad except that my head still aches."

Only after the words were out did he suddenly jerk forward and, staring up at the Abbd, cry in French: "What was that you said?"

The Abbess delicately modelled mouth twitched with unconcealed humour as he replied in his native tongue: "I only asked you how you were, and I am delighted to see that you are well on the way to recovery."

"But you spoke in English," Roger muttered accusingly.

"What if I did? I do not speak it very well but I know a little of that language. I have English friends. Lord and Lady Grey came to stay with me last year. Also I saw quite a lot of your Prime Minister, Mr. Pitt, when he was over here. He and I had good fun giving one another lessons in our languages. You are an Englishman. I know it, since you raved for a solid hour in that tongue when you were unconscious last night."

"Did I?" faltered Roger lamely, as he strove to grasp the results which this unmasking of his long deception might have upon his fortunes.

"Indeecl'you did," went on the Abbé, carefully lowering himself ino a chair beside the bed. "But please do not distress yourself on that account. It is clear that for some reason of your own you prefer to pass as a Frenchman, and I would never abuse a confidence obtained in such a manner."

Somewhat reassured, Roger murmured his thanks; then asked the outcome of the affray with the footpads.

"After I had wounded one the other fled," replied the Abbé", "but they were no footpads; they were hired bravos who set upon us in a deliberate attempt to kill me. Of that I now have little doubt. Footpads never use their weapons unless positively forced to it, and those ruffians fired on us before we'd even had a chance to produce our purses. I've a shrewd idea, too, who primed them to it. Unless I'm much mistaken, 'twas the Comte de Caylus."

Roger looked up quickly. "You mean that revolting-looking half-breed who is a close friend of M. de Rochambeau?"

"I do. But let me warn you, my young friend, not to use such expressions in front of anyone who is likely to carry them to M. de Caylus's ears. The fact that his mother was a mulatto does not invalidate his ancient lineage on his father's side, and he is both power­ful and vindictive. He is also rich as Croesus, so 'twas no small triumph on my part to win away from him Mademoiselle Olympe, who is, I think, the loveliest of all our Opera girls."

"You underrate your own good looks, M. le Abbé' Roger laughed. "Between them and M. de Caylus's money how could a woman hesitate, since I can scarce imagine a more horrid fate for any girl than to have to suffer his embraces."

De Perigord bowed. "I thank you for the compliment. He is certainly an oafish fellow and, since my being a churchman prevents his calling me out, he is just the morbid sort of person who might seek redress by attempting to have me murdered. By God's grace those villains cannot have known me by sight, and thinking that every Abbé wears a cassock mistook poor d'Heury for myself; so killed him instead."

"What! Is d'Heury dead!" exclaimed Roger.

"Aye! Shot through the heart. I would

be dead, too, had it not been for your prompt action in knocking up the other rogue's pistol. So I owe you a debt that I doubt ever being able to repay. And, believe me, I count my life mighty precious as I get endless amusement from it. I trust that henceforth you will regard me as your friend and allow me to be of service to you whenever occasion offers."

Roger smiled, realising his good fortune in having earned the gratitude of so influential a protector, and said:

"Indeed, M. l'Abbé, I could have done no less; and I count your friendship almost too great an honour, for I am, as you know, but a secretary to M. de Rochambeau."

The Abbé gave him a shrewd look and, being by nature insatiably curious, sought to plumb the mystery of his posing as a Frenchman by replying: "You are at present only a secretary, 'tis true; but that has no bearing on what you may become, particularly in these days; or what you were in the past. It may be that like many others of your countrymen you have been driven abroad by Jacobite sympathies and, having run out of funds, forced to earn your living as best you may."

"I come of a Jacobite family on my mother's side," Roger admitted. "She was a Lady Marie McElfic before her marriage, and my grand­father was the Earl of Kildonan."

"Why; how small the world is!" exclaimed de Perigord, "I know him. But no; it must be your uncle with whom I am acquainted."

Roger nodded." 'Twould be my uncle Colin. You have the advantage of me there, though, for my mother quarrelled with her family on her marriage and I have never met any of them. He would be about fifty now, and 'tis said that I take after him."

"You do. Now I look at you again I can see the resemblance. Lord Kildonan was in Paris last autumn and again this spring. He broke his journey here for several weeks both going to and coming from Rome, where he spent the winter in attendance on the old gentleman whom you no doubt regard as your lawful Sovereign."

Roger was saved from having to reply to this awkward question by the Abbé standing up, and going smoothly on. "But I am forgetting that you are still an invalid. I must not tire you by gossiping over­much. We'll talk again to-morrow. In the meantime, good night and fair dreams to you, Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc."

For a moment Roger was nonplussed, but he recovered in time to say good night before his host limped gracefully from the room; then he gave himself up to thinking over this strange interview. It had not occurred to him before that in France, as the grandson of an Earl, he was fully entitled both to style himself "Chevalier" and place the "de" of the nobility before his name if he wished. He wondered what effect that might have on his affair with Athenais. It Was the magic pass which would enable him to cross the barrier that lay between them but, even so, it would not raise him to her status. Her father would never allow her to marry a landless Chevalier; moreover, she was still in distant Brittany and he had yet to make his peace with her.

Next day the doctor came to remove his bandages. The bullet had only grazed his scalp and a strip of plaster covering the furrow it had made was now all that was necessary. An inch-wide swathe of his hair had been cut away to cleanse the wound, but the Abba's barber came in the afternoon to redress his hair in a new fashion which almost concealed the plaster.

In the evening de Perigord paid him another visit and, having thought the matter over during the day, Roger confided to him the major events which had led to his becoming the Marquis de Rochambeau's secretary. He said nothing of Athenais and allowed the Abbé to continue in his belief that Jacobite sympathies were one of his principal reasons for coming to France. To this end he laid his quarrel with his father to that account.

It was not that he did not trust the Abbé but he feared that the whole truth might place him in an awkward position. During the past forty years innumerable British subjects of Jacobite sympathies had taken service under the French flag and many of them had held positions of trust in the wars against their own country. So to pose as a Jacobite secured him from any possibility that the Abbé might feel it his duty to inform the Marquis that he had been deceived into employing as his secretary an Englishman who was loyal to King George III. Roger also took the opportunity to say that as long as he had to earn his living as a servant he would greatly prefer that his true lineage should not be made public; and de Perigord readily agreed to the wisdom of this.

When Roger had done the Abbé said thoughtfully: "Would that I had had the courage to do as you did, and break with my family rather than allow them to force me into the Church; but in view of my crippled foot it seemed that no other course was open to me."

"Were you born a cripple?" Roger asked.

"Nay. I came by my lameness through an accident. As a babe I was put out to nurse with poor folk who had not the time to look after me properly, and while still quite young had a fall. The injury was neglected and has cost me dear. As the eldest surviving son of my father, the Count de Talleyrand-Perigord, I was his heir; but when it was found that on account of my lameness I should never be able to bear arms, he secured the King's permission to disinherit me in favour of my younger brother."

"That was hard indeed, and you must have had a most unhappy childhood."

"No worse than falls to the lot of most children of the French nobility. My parents remained almost strangers to me and I never passed a night under their roof; but between the ages of five and eight I spent three Wonderful years with my great-grandmo ther, the Princess de Chalais, at her chateau near Bordeaux. She and I loved each other fondly, and to live there with her was an education in itself. Her friends were all old people, relics of a past age, but they had known the real glory of the Court of Louis XIV, where integrity and intellect were rated greater virtues than the capacity to tell a dirty story or cheat skilfully at cards. Their manners were impeccable, and they still maintained the old tradition of being a father to their peasants instead of ruining them by a hundred petty taxes to provide for their own extravagance. It almost broke my heart when I was brought back to Paris and put to study in the College d'Harcourt." "Was it very dreary there?"

"Incredibly so; but the Seminary of Saint Sulpice, where I later spent seven years, was even worse. Before I went there, in an endeavour to reconcile me to entering the Church, my parents sent me to live for a year with my uncle at Hautefontaine, the Court of the Archbishop of Rheims. He was then Coadjutor there and is now Archbishop himself. 'Twas thought that a sight of the pomp, luxury and licence in which these great prelates live would tempt me to follow in their steps with some eagerness, yet even that had no permanent effect on my distaste for the Church as a career. But my latter years at Saint Sulpice were made bearable by a truly charming love affair. When I was seventeen I met a young and lovely actress, named Dorothee Dorinville. She was no common trollop of the stage but loathed its sordidness and was as lonely as myself. She became my mistress, and at our stolen meetings I could forget the endless, nit-picking discourses on theology which for hours each day I was compelled either to listen to or compose. Then at the age of twenty-five I was ordained. At last I had my freedom and not an hour of it have I wasted since. 'Tis a fine life even if we do all live on the edge of a precipice."

Roger smiled at this charming cynic. "I wonder, though," he said after a moment, "that with your high connections you have not yet received greater preferment."

The Abbd took a pinch of snuff, and returned the smile. "Well may you do so, mon ami. I wake each morning with amazement on that score myself. So far I have been given but one miserable Abbey, that of Saint Denis in the diocese of Rheims, and been made Vicar-General of the Archbishopric. 'Tis true that I am also Agent du Charge for the Church in the province of Tours, but that brings me little; and I am ever being put to the most shameless shifts to make two ends meet. I should have been given a Bishopric long since, and a rich one at that, but I am past caring overmuch any longer. "Great changes are coming to France and in them will lie my real opportunity."

"You think then that the present regime will not last much longer?"

"It cannot, as you would know if you talked with many of my friends; and I do not refer to those who still hide their heads like ostriches in the gaieties of the Court, but men of affairs who are in a position to appreciate the true state and temper of the nation. I am, alas, so poor that I have perforce to eat my dinners at other people's tables, but I give breakfast to a dozen or so of my friends here every morning. At any time you care to take a cup of chocolate with us you will be most welcome. I mean that; and please do not refrain from coming through any fear that you will be cold-shouldered because I may not introduce you by your true rank. The men who meet here are mostly nobles, it is true, but they have the sense to realise that the time is coming when a coat of arms will not be worth a button, and they are interested only in men as men, for what they think and have to say."

"I will certainly avail myself of your kind invitation," Roger replied. "M. le Marquis rarely requires any attendance in the mornings and I can always catch up with my routine work at other hours. But now that I am well enough I feel that I ought to return to the Hotel de Rochambeau, as with d'Haury's death and my absence there must be a mighty accumulation of matters requiring attention."

"My carriage shall take you back to-morrow morning," said de Perigord. So Roger, having parted from his new friend with many expressions of good will on both sides, returned to his duties on the third day after their unforeseen interruption.

That afternoon he saw his master in an entirely new, and far from pleasant, light. Previously the Marquis had always appeared to him cold, haughty and dispassionate, but just and not unkind. Now, on his arrival from Versailles, he displayed a most evil temper. Its cause was the confusion into which his affairs had been thrown by suddenly being deprived of both his secretaries. He had at once been informed of the reason for this by de Perigord; but, instead of showing the least distress at the unfortunate d'Heury's death and Roger's injury, his mind was entirely taken up with the comparatively slight inconvenience that their absence had caused himself.

For five minutes he ranted at Roger, abusing him for looking no less well than usual, and asserting that clearly he had been fit enough to return to work the day before, instead of idling out at Passy. Then be thrust a great batch of papers at him and snapped:

"Get those into some sort of order and brief me on them by to-morrow morning. With that fool d'Heury getting himself killed I scarce know which way to turn, but you have been here long enough now to take his place temporarily. 'Twas by God's mercy that His Majesty left for Cherbourg on the day you got yourself into trouble, otherwise my affairs would be in a still worse tangle. I had my steward send up two clerks from his department during your absence, but I found them worse than useless, and neither can find me a single paper that I require. Keep them to help you if you wish or send the fools back to Roland. Get out of my sight now and make up for lost time, or 'twill be the worse for you!"

This brief encounter destroyed for Roger all the respect, if not affection, with which he had come to regard the Marquis during the preceding months. He had been granted a glimpse of the man beneath the lace and satin clothing of the aristocrat and for the first time understood his true nature. The Marquis was hard and selfish to the core. All his life he had been in a position to command service but he regarded those who served him merely as convenient machines designed by God to carry out his wishes and, since they could readily be replaced, he did not care one iota if they lived in comfort or died in squalor. It was this revelation which later freed Roger from many serious qualms he would otherwise have felt in his dealings with his master.

Nevertheless, shocked as he was, he was shrewd enough to realise that for the time being his fortune lay in maintaining his place in the de Rochambeau household; so, although by midnight his head was splitting from his recent wound, he worked on until the small hours of the morning, in order to get the Marquis's affairs properly straightened out.

Next day, when he presented the results of his labours, M. de Rochambeau, still in an evil temper, only grunted; but by the end of the week he had resumed his usual haughty placidity and seemed to have forgotten that d'Heury had ever existed.

It was Roger who raised the matter, by saying that he had sent one of the clerks back to the steward but proposed to keep the other, a diligent young man named Paintendre, as he was making himself quite useful.

"Ah yes!" said the Marquis. "That reminds me. I have done nothing about seeking a replacement for d'Heury. But, after all, 'twould be no easy matter to find someone really suitable, and you seem to be managing very well. For a young man your grasp of affairs is quite exceptional. Let us leave matters as they are and if you continue as you are doing I shall have no complaints. What am I paying you? '

"One hundred and twenty louis a year, Monseigneur."

"Then take two-hundred and forty in future, so that you may properly support your new position."

As Roger thanked him he felt no sense of gratitude. This doubling of his salary was not a generous gesture, as he would earlier have-thought it. He knew now that he owed it only to the fact that the Marquis had canons of his own. M. de Rochambeau would have felt himself dishonoured by receiving anything from an inferior for which he had not paid what he considered to be an adequate price, and the maintenance of his own self-esteem demanded that his principal secretary should not live at a lesser standard than those of other nobles of his own status.

All through July Roger had his work cut out to get a full grasp of the confidential affairs into which d'Heury had never initiated him and, when the Marquis's current business did not require his attention, he spent many hours reading through old correspondence so as to fill in the gaps in his knowledge. By the end of August he had mastered all the most important matters and, in the process, had acquired a good general picture of what was going on in most of the principal Courts of Europe, so he was rarely at a loss when M. de Rochambeau asked him about some point that had slipped his own memory.

Horses, carriages and messengers were always at his disposal, so with few expenses other than dressing himself, and ample money with which to indulge his taste, he now became quite a dandy. Once or twice a week he went out to breakfast at the Abbé de Perigord's little house in the Rue de Bellechasse at Passy, and even that exquisite took occasion to compliment him on his choice of waistcoats.

On these visits to Passy he at first kept himself very much in the background, but gradually he was becoming known as one of the circle that gathered there, and he enjoyed the witty conversation of many intellectuals who were, before many years had passed, to exercise great influence on the destinies of France.

Among them were such men as the famous authors, Dupont de Nemours and l'Abbé Delille; the gross and pockmarked but brilliant Comte de Mirabeau; Louis de Narbonne, the elegant and gifted illegiti­mate son of the King's youngest aunt; August de Choiseul-Gouffier, nephew of Louis XV's Prime Minister; Borthes, Champford, Mathieu de Montmorency, Rulthiere and a score of others. They discussed every topic under the sun and nothing was sacred to them. They spared neither women, poets, ministers, playwrights, royalty nor one another. They were mostly under thirty-five, nearly all revolutionaries at heart, and all dissolute of habit. Their conversation sparkled with epigrams and reeked of scandal, yet their thoughts were in the main original and their ideas dynamic.

It was finding that on occasion he could hold his own with the Abbé's brilliant friends that added new impetus to Roger's ambitions. During the past hundred and fifty years by no means all the ministers to the Crown had been nobles; many of the most able had been of humble birth and risen to high office by way of secretaryships and Intendancies. Cardinal Mazarin had been the son of a poor Italian fisherman, yet he had become Prime Minister and a multi-millionaire during the Regency of Anne of Austria, and, so it was said, been secretly married to the Queen. Colbert, Louis XIV's greatest minister, had started life as a clerk, and the Abbé Dubois, from being a poor cleric, had raised himself under the Regency of the Due d'Orleans to First Minister of the State with a Cardinal's Hat.

Roger was not so conceited as to aspire, as yet, to such high office, but he had acquired sufficient confidence in himself to believe that a wide field of advancement now lay open to him. In the service of the Marquis he was gaining invaluable experience, so he was in no hurry to make a change, but he felt confident that at any time he wished one or other of his new and influential friends would willingly recommend him for some other post which would greatly better his position.

September proved a difficult month for Roger, as the Marquis was much out of humour. The Treaty of Versailles had stipulated that it should be followed by a Commercial Treaty designed to bring Britain and France much closer together, and for the past two years M. de Rochambeau had devoted much of his time to intriguing successfully against all proposals for the development of this trade agreement.

He argued that Britain would gain infinitely more from facilities to export her hardware, cutlery, cottons and woollens to France on easy terms than France could possibly do from similar facilities to export her wines and silks to Britain.

In the previous year he had had to combat only a Mr. Craufurd whom Britain had sent over as a special emissary to negotiate the Treaty, and Mr. Craufurd had proved both weak and idle. But in May the British Foreign Secretary, Lord Carmarthen, had recalled Craufurd and replaced him by the able and active Mr. Eden. In the summer, therefore, M. de Rochambeau had found himself fighting a losing battle and this reached its culmination in September.

Owing as much to the apprehensions of the British as the French, the Treaty in its final form was far from an agreement for "free trade," but prohibitions were withdrawn and duties greatly reduced on many articles; and, as each clause was agreed, the Marquis became more irritable until, to his extreme chagrin and Roger's secret delight the Treaty was definitely agreed and signed on the 20th of September.

It was early in October that the Marquis said to him one day:

"M. de Vergenne's wife is seriously ill and the old Count is so distraught that he has sought leave of absence from the King to remain at her bedside until she is either dead or better. While he is away no major decisions on foreign policy will be taken, so I propose to give myself a holiday and take the waters at Vichy for my health. I have recently heard from my Paris lawyers that they advise proceeding with the affair of the Domain de St. Hilaire. As families living in different provinces are concerned the case will be heard before the Parliament of Paris. All the original documents that are relevant will have to be produced in evidence. So, during my absence I wish you to journey to Becherel and bring them back with you."

Roger's heart bounded with joy. For some weeks past he had been very much alive to the fact that Athenais would soon be returning to Paris for the winter season, but that did not open properly until the Court returned from Fontainebleau in mid-November; and this order meant that he would see his cherished angel considerably earlier than would otherwise have been the case.

Within an hour of the Marquis's leaving Paris, Roger was on his way. Once more he passed through Rambouillet, Chartres, Alencon, Mayenne, Vitre and Rennes without giving a thought to their historic interest. The hooves of the many horses he bestrode all rang out the same magic rhythm: "Ath-en-als, Ath-en-ais, Ath-eh-ais."

When he reached Rennes it was already well on in the afternoon, but he pushed on and covered the last miles after darkness had fallen. This time he did not go round to the stable entrance, but rode up to the front door and hammered upon it with his riding-crop as impatiently as any young lordling.

From the subdued, greeting of the footman who answered it he sensed that something was wrong. Then he noticed that the man was wearing a pair of old cloth breeches, that his livery coat was half unbuttoned, having been pulled on hastily, and that the great hall was not lit as brightly as was customary when any member of the family was in residence. Throwing the reins of his horse over an iron hook.

Roger stepped inside. The gloomy shadows seemed to reach out, engulfing him in a cold fear.

"What has been happening here?" he cried to the servant, his voice high with sudden apprehension. "Where is Aldegonde? Why do you stare at me so glumly? Tell me what's wrong; or if you've not the courage, go get him—instantly."

At that moment the fat major-domo came shambling through a door at the back of the hall. He was not in livery but wore an old dressing-gown and heel-less slippers.

"Ah, Monsieur Breuc!" he exclaimed in a doleful voice, as he came forward, "I heard your horse's hooves and wondered who it could be riding up at this late hour. You find us in a poor state to welcome anyone."

Roger slapped his leg impatiently with his riding-crop. "What has befallen you all? Why is the place in semi-darkness? What calamity has plunged you in such gloom?"

"Alas, Monsieur, we have been beset with troubles for a fortnight back. It must be that since Madame Velot slipped upon the stairs and broke her leg."

"Go on, man!" snapped Roger. "One does not douse three-quarters of the lights because a woman breaks her leg. Speak up, or by thunder I'll break my riding-crop across your shoulders!"

Aldegonde had already taken in Roger's new finery, as the dust of the road did not disguise his well-cut, pearl-grey riding suit and doeskin gauntlets. In the past six months he had not only put on an inch in height but grown in mental stature far beyond that proportion. The old major-domo knew the voice of authority when he heard it. Far from showing resentment at this imperious treatment he positively cringed, and wrung his hands together, as he murmured:

" 'Tis no fault of ours, Monsieur; and I mentioned Madame Velot's accident only because 'twas the day she broke her leg that we first heard of the sickness in the village. 'Tis the great pox, no less, and half the staff are now stricken with it."

"Mademoiselle Athenais?" croaked Roger.

The major-domo nodded. "She, too, Monsieur, and for the past three days she has been delirious."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE FELL DISEASE

ROGER had known it. From the very second that the doors of the chateau had been opened he had felt certain that some terrible calamity had befallen Athenais. Up to the last moment he had still hoped against hope that he was wrong and had lacked the courage to pronounce her name. But now he knew the worst, and it was horrible to con­template.

Owing to the filth in which the peasants lived, crowded together like animals in their miserable dwellings, such sporadic outbreaks were not uncommon. They often halved the younger population of a small community in a month, then died away, leaving the majority of the survivors scarred and disfigured for life. Roger knew that Athenais, instead of taking coach to Rennes at the first tidings of the epidemic, must have stayed on to succour her stricken people, as only by actual contact with them could she have caught the disease herself.

"Where is the doctor?" Roger demanded, his voice suddenly quiet again after his outburst.

"We have no doctor living here, Monsieur," replied Aldegonde. "The nearest is Doctor Gonnet of Montfort. 'Twas he who set Madame Velot's leg, and since the sickness came he has ridden over every other day. He will be here again to-morrow."

"Who is looking after Mademoiselle?"

"Mere Sufflot, the midwife from the village. Mademoiselle's maid, Edmee, and several of the younger servants have run away, from fear of catching the sickness."

"Has no attempt been made to get help from Rennes?"

Aldegonde spread out his hands. "I had not thought of that, Monsieur. It seemed to me that Doctor Gonnet was doing all that can be done."

It did not take Roger long to size up the situation. In England, in such a case, the servants would have shown initiative and spirit. They would have taken charge and secured proper medical aid; and no lady's maid worth her salt would have run away. But here in France things were very different. If you had your footman whipped for spilling a cup of chocolate on your gown you could not expect loyal service from him at a time of crisis. Just as the Marquis had been completely unmoved by d'Heury's death, so the servants at Becherel did not give a straw whether their young mistress lived or died.

"Have my old room prepared," said Roger sharply, "and have all the candles lit. From to-morrow morning the servants are to appear properly dressed in their liveries and go about their usual duties. Since Mademoiselle is still in residence 'tis fitting that the service of the chateau should be conducted in a normal manner."

For the first time Aldegonde showed resentment at his tone. "Since when," he said sullenly, "has it been Monsieur's place to give orders here?"

"Since the moment I put my foot inside the door," Roger rapped back, assuming an authority to which he had no shadow of right. "I am Monseigneur's emissary. While Mademoiselle remains tied to her bed you'll take your orders from me, or 'twill be the worse for you. Have a bottle of vinegar and some cloves of garlic put in my room, also some cold food and wine. I go now to see Madame Velot."

At this reference to the Marquis the major-domo's attempt to assert himself collapsed like a pricked bubble. He bowed submissively as, without another glance at him, Roger strode with jingling spurs across the great hall.

When he knocked at Madame Marie-Ange's door she called to him to come in and, on entering the room, he saw that she was lying in bed staring at the ceiling. Her surprise at seeing him was only equalled by her pleasure, but he found her in a sad state. In her fall she had fractured her hip as well as her leg. She was still in considerable pain and her injuries having been set in splints it was impossible for her to move the lower part of her body.

On her telling him about her accident he well remembered the treacherous marble stairs that had been the cause of it, as he had narrowly escaped breaking his own nose by slipping on them the preceding autumn.

She was terribly distressed about Athenais, but the pain she was in herself appeared to have robbed her of all her powers of concentra­tion. It seemed that she had faith in Dr. Gonnet and could only keep on repeating that with the help of le bon Dieu all would be well. Roger learned that it was she who had sent for Mere Sufflot from the village to nurse Athenais, as the old woman was the only person in the locality who had any professional experience; and that she was being looked after herself by the head chambermaid.

When Roger announced that he intended to go and see Athenais, she made a faint protest, and murmured something about it being most improper for him to enter a young lady's room; but he waved the objection aside and, after having rearranged her pillows for her, marched determinedly off down the corridor.

At his knock, Mere Sufflot opened the door to him. She proved to be a bleary-eyed old crone and stank like a polecat. Looking round he saw that the room was of splendid dimensions. It could have accommodated four full-sized billiard-tables and there would still have been ample space to spare. The heavy-brocaded curtains were drawn and a great wood fire was roaring in the big grate, making the room stiflingly hot. A huge four-poster bed occupied the centre of the wall opposite the windows; but, from where he stood he could not see Athenais, as she was hidden from him by a screen.

"How is Mademoiselle?" he asked the old woman, in a low voice.

"The fever has abated, Monsieur," she replied with a cringing leer. "Mademoiselle is out of danger, but I fear that her pretty face will be sadly marked."

"Is she sleeping?"

"No. She has slept most of the day, and 'twas when she woke an hour ago that I knew her to be past the crisis." "Who relieves you here at night?"

The old woman's bleary eyes showed faint surprise. "Why, no one, Monsieur. I have not left the room for three days. Monsieur Aldegonde sends up trays of food for us which are left outside the door. None of them would come in here while the sickness is still infectious."

"Then go downstairs now and get some fresh air. Be back in an hour."

With an awkward curtsey and a servile grin that showed the gaps between her yellow teeth, Mire Sufflot left him. Then he tiptoed across the soft Aubusson carpet to the foot of the bed.

Athenais lay propped up against her pillows. She was awake and fully conscious. Her bright blue eyes seemed larger than ever, but her face smaller, under the great coif of hair that was incongruously piled up on her head. It was only with difficulty that he repressed a start of dismay as he saw the ravages that the disease had made on her lovely features. Great suppurating sores blotched her forehead, cheeks and chin, and she was dabbing at them with a soiled cambric handkerchief.

As she saw him her eyes flickered, then she threw up her hands and pressed them against her face.

"Don't do that!" he said softly. "For goodness sake be careful. It's absolutely imperative that you should not touch those sores."

Slowly she lowered her hands and said in a husky voice: "What brings you here?"

"Monseigneur desired me to bring the papers on which I was working last winter to Paris for him. I arrived but half an hour ago, and words cannot express my distress at the condition in which I find you."

"How come you in my room?" she asked dully.

"I am here to make better arrangements for your attention, Mademoiselle. How long is it since that old woman washed you?"

"She has made no attempt to do so; and I would not let her lay a finger on me if she tried."

"That I can understand; yet you must be washed by someone. I see your sheets need changing too, and the room smells like a charnel house. But I learn that you are past the crisis, so at least we may thank God for that."

"I care not any longer. I have no wish to live now that my looks are ruined."

"Oh, come!" he pleaded with a smile. "Your sores are only just beginning to heal, and if you do not interfere with them they will not mark you. But to start with, you must have clean linen and fresh air, instead of allowing your room to remain a forcing-house for the pestilence." As he spoke, he turned away and walked across the room.

Her husky voice came after him: "What are you about to do?"

"Open two of your windows," he replied.

"Leave well alone," she said sharply. "You are no doctor, and have no right to alter matters here. A draught might kill me."

"Nay. Fresh air never killed anyone," he said over his shoulder. "And I pray you, Mademoiselle, not to make things more difficult for me. My only desire is to serve you and see you well again."

Drawing back the heavy curtains he opened two of the windows and let in the cool night breeze; but he stoked up the fire before returning to her bedside.

As he approached she said, suddenly: "You look different. You have grown; and yes, you are dressed like, like…"

"Like a noble," he supplied the word for her with a smile. "Fine feathers make fine birds, do they not, Mademoiselle? But would you have had me always remain a pettifogging clerk?"

"I am indifferent to what you are or what you may become," she replied coldly.

He bowed slightly. "That, Mademoiselle, is my dire misfortune, but you may depend upon it that I shall never cease to be your most humble and obedient servant."

Turning away from her he quietly left the room, went downstairs, found a footman, and ordered fresh sheets and warm water to be sent up. When they arrived on the landing he carried them into the room and, setting them down, looked through the drawers of a chest until he found a shift of fine linen. Having torn it into strips he picked up the bowl of water and walked over to the bed.

"You are not to touch me," she whispered, her eyes distended with dislike and fear. Then as she saw that he intended to ignore her words she wriggled down in the great bed and drew the sheets up to her chin.

Dipping the linen in the water he began to cleanse the sores upon her face, taking the greatest care not to disturb any of the scabs that were beginning to form round their edges. After a little she eased herself up and let him bathe her neck and hands without further protest. When he had done he found a comb, undid her hair, combed and brushed it and did it up again in two long plaits.

"That is better," he said at last. "And now you must get out of bed for a few minutes while I change the sheets."

"I'll do no such thing," she croaked with a flash of anger. "I'd rather die than let you see me naked."

"Be sensible," he laughed. " 'Tis better that I should do it than that old Woman who reeks of brandy and doubtless carries the pox herself. Here's your robe-de-chambre. Slip it on, then curl yourself up in the duvet. I promise I won't look while you are doing so."

"I won't," she gasped.

He shook his head. " 'Tis that or I'll have you out of that filthy bed as you are. The choice lies with you, Mademoiselle." "You swear you will not look?" "I swear it."

He walked away and turned his back. Two minutes later he caught a muffled whisper: "Monsieur Breuc, I am at your disposal."

When he looked he saw that the duvet now formed a big ball in the middle of the bed with only one small pink foot showing from it. Slipping his arms under the bundle he lifted it with ease and carrying its precious contents over to the fire deposited it gently in a chair. Then he changed the sheets and pillow-cases, carried the bundle back again and said: "You can get back into bed now. I am going behind the screen."

Having given her a minute or two he emerged to find her sitting up as he had first found her. "Now," he said, "I trust you will at least give me the satisfaction of admitting that you feel more comfortable."

"I do, Monsieur," she replied, a shade more graciously. "And—and, I thank you for it."

He was just about to say something else when the door opened and Mere Sufflot came in.

Momentarily disconcerted he looked at her in silence for a few seconds, then he said: "Please go downstairs again, and ask someone to have hot water placed in my room."

The old woman gave her awkward bob and bustled out again.

Turning back to Athenais he once more walked up to the side of her bed and spoke with all the feeling that he could command.

"Mademoiselle. The last .thing I wish to do is to tire you with unnecessary talk; but there is something that I must say to you. Something that I have been waiting for nearly a year to say. It concerns the day on which your horse ran away and, through my fault, you were thrown into the river. You were quite right to be angry with me for the liberty I took. I realised that afterwards and I meant to tell you how sorry I was for what I had done; but before I had a chance to do so you had left for Paris. I wish now to offer you my humblest apologies and to assure you that I would never have done such a thing, had I not been near insane from love of you."

Her blotched face remained quite expressionless, as she said slowly: "You did not kiss me because you loved me. 'Twas out of hatred. 'Twas because I had scorned your advances. You wished to humiliate me in return and took a mean revenge."

"Nay, Mademoiselle, I protest," cried Roger. "I have loved you since the very first moment that I set eyes on you. And 'twas love that drove me mad that day."

"Would you then claim that you love me still?" she asked, her eyes over-bright from a return of the fever.

"Indeed, I do!"

"You lie! 'Tis that you have wormed yourself into my father's good graces, and fear that I yet may tell of your assault upon me. You seek my pardon only to protect your place."

"That is not true! I care not a fig if I remain in your father's service, or leave it! Except as it affects my chances of seeing you. 'Tis love alone that made me hasten here at breakneck speed, and 'tis love alone that makes me plead for your forgiveness."

"I'll not believe it!"

"I swear it!"

Her eyes glittered with a feverish light. "Then kiss me again! Now! This very moment; hideous as I am and ridden with disease!"

Without the slightest hesitation he stooped and placed his mouth against her dry and burning lips. He knew full well the danger that he was running but he would have walked through fire to prove his love for her, and he made himself keep his lips pressed against hers for a long moment.

It was the sound of the door opening that made them jerk their heads apart, but Roger had time to step quietly back a pace before Mere Sufflot came round the end of the screen.

Athenais's face was now flushed scarlet between the blotches. Her eyes were lowered and she would not raise them as he said:

"There is one more thing, Mademoiselle. An unpleasant one, I fear, but necessary, if we are to save your face from being scarred. Now that your sores are beginning to heal they will itch abominably. Lest the temptation to scratch them prove too much for you we must tie your hands behind your back."

Her mouth went sullen, but she now seemed dazed and did not reply.

Taking a long strip of the linen that he had already prepared for the purpose, he tied one end of it round her left wrist then, having passed the loose end behind her back, he secured it to her right wrist. This single, soft bond still allowed her to raise her hands in front to breast-height and, as it was imperceptible to he upon, would not, he hoped, seriously interfere with her sleeping.

Fixing Mere Sufflot with a steely glance he said: "You will not untie that bandage even on a direct order from Mademoiselle. On no account are you to let the fire die down, and you are to keep the windows open. Should Mademoiselle grow worse in the night you are to send for me at once. I am the master here now, and these are my orders. If you carry them out fully I will see to it that you are well rewarded, but fail to obey them and I will have you put in the pillory."

Athenais's eyes flickered up for an instant and her mouth fell a little open; but she said nothing, and made him only a slight inclination of the head as he bowed formally to her, and wished her good rest, before leaving the room.

Up in his own room he washed his face and hands in vinegar and water and, after gargling with the same simple antiseptic, chewed a clove of garlic to a pulp, then spat out the pieces. He hated the stuff but believed it to be, as in fact is the case, a natural absorbent of poisons, and it was one of the simple hints to the preservation of health that he had picked up from old Aristotle Fenelon.

On getting into bed the familiar room, in which he had slept for so many months, recalled to him his dream about Georgina. He had never received any reply to the long letter he had written to her the previous April, and he wondered if she had, after all this time, become too immersed in her own affairs to bother with him any more, or if it had gone astray. But it was, no doubt, his thinking of her that caused him to dream of her again.

She was standing by his bedside shaking him by the shoulder and saying: "Get up, Roger! Get up, d'you hear! That silly little creature you're so distracted about needs your attention."

He woke with a start, to find himself shouting angrily: "She's not a silly little creature! She's "

Then he broke off with a laugh. No doubt Georgina would regard Athenais as spoilt, stupid, and intolerably conceited, but that did not affect the fact that he loved her; and he had no hesitation in taking the dream as a warning.

On looking at his watch he found it to be one o'clock. Slipping on his bed-robe he went down to the floor below and along to Athenais's room. Opening the door he tiptoed inside. On emerging from behind the screen he saw that Athenais was asleep, snoring gently through her small, curved nose. But Mere Sufflot was also sleeping soundly; the fire beside which she sat had almost died out, and the chill of the night air coming through the still open windows made him shiver.

Roger could be completely ruthless where the interests near his heart were concerned. Advancing with catlike tread on the old mid-wife, he suddenly thrust out both hands and gripped her firmly- round the neck, so that she could not cry out. She woke with a violent start'

Squeezing her neck tighter he gave her a rough shake and, stooping, whispered in her ear:

"Get on your knees and mend that fire piece by piece. If a log falls and wakes Mademoiselle I'll have the hide flayed off you. What is more, if when I come down next she is not still sleeping and you awake I'll strangle you with my own hands."

It was, he knew, the sort of language that a woman of her type, on having failed in her duty, would expect; and the only sort of treat­ment that would make any impression on her drink-sodden old brain. When her eyes were bulging he released his grip, and with a smothered cough she obediently set to getting the fire back into a blaze.

On returning to his bed he only dozed, and he went down to Athenais's room again about four o'clock in the morning. She had turned on her side and was now sleeping quietly. The room was fresh but pleasantly warm and the old harridan, still wide awake, was sitting bolt upright in her chair. As he tiptoed in she gave him a terrified glance but, to her amazement, he patted her gently on the shoulder, and tiptoed out again.

From four to seven he slept soundly, and was roused only by his petit dejeuner being brought to him. When he had dressed he sought out Aldegonde and insisted on the major-domo taking him round the servants' quarters. He found that fifteen of the younger members of the staff were down with the sickness, but that several of the older servants, who had already had the disease, were tending them with care. Appropriately enough, he thought cynically, these people are willing to look after one another, but they are quite content to leave their master's daughter in the hands of a besotted old mid-wife.

Relieved of further worry about the sick servants he went up to see Athenais. She was awake; but immediately he came in she turned her back to him, so he refrained from speaking to her. To Mere Sufflot he said: "You can doze now if you wish, as I shall be coming in during the morning to keep the fire going." He then went down to the library and waited impatiently for the doctor.

It was half-past eleven before Dr. Gonnet, who had ridden ten miles from Montfort, put in an appearance; and when he did Roger was not impressed by him. He was old, not without shrewd common sense, but a country practitioner who made no secret of the fact that he eked out an existence by attending on the peasantry, and had little leisure to keep abreast with the latest discoveries in medicine. He reported that Athenais was progressing favourably, approved Roger's measures for making her more comfortable, but shook his head dubiously over the open windows.

Immediately he had gone Roger went out to the stables in search of Chenou. They greeted one another with their old friendliness and the chief huntsman said feelingly:

"Thank God you are come to us, Monsieur Breuc. We were in a pretty pickle here, and badly needed someone to take charge inside the house. I would have myself but I was loath to trespass on Monsieur Aldegonde's province. If there is any way in which I can help you have but to name it."

"Indeed there is," replied Roger quickly. "I want you to ride into Rennes at once; but before you go give orders for a coach to follow you. When you reach Rennes go to Maitre Leger and ask him to recommend the best doctor in the city. Seek out the doctor and offer him any price you like to accompany you back here and remain as resident physician until Mademoiselle Athenais is well again. Then go to the Convent of the Sisters of Mercy and see the Superior. Say that you come on behalf of Monseigneur and ask her to furnish you with her two most competent nursing Sisters. Bring the doctor and the nuns back in the coach, and do your damnedest to have them here by nightfall."

"It shall be done. Monsieur; or I will eat my own beard," declared Chenou, and he began to shout for his grooms and stableboys.

During the remainder of the day Roger personally supervised the wants of Athenais. She addressed no word to him and he refrained from any approach to her. At ten o'clock that night Chenou returned from his forty-mile trip into Rennes and back, bringing a youngish doctor named Hollier and two Sisters of Mercy. Roger sent Mere Sufflot packing with a louis and installed Athenais's new attendants. Then he went to bed and slept like a log.

Next day he had all the sick servants moved from their own stuffy quarters to the ballroom of the chateau, and, having turned it into a hospital ward, placed Dr. Hollier in charge. He then wrote to the Marquis, giving him a full account of the state of affairs at Becherel, and suggesting that he should remain there until Athenais was fully recovered.

The days that followed left him anxious and now a little uncertain of himself. He did not feel justified in any longer going to Athenais's room, but waited impatiently each morning for Dr. HolUer's bulletin about her spots. Most days he rode an hour or two with Chenou, and spent the rest of the time with Madame Marie-Ange; reading the novels of Madame de Villedieu to her, these light romances having been her favourites in her youth.

The motherly old soul's leg and hip were gradually mending and, as her pain lessened, she became more alert to what was going on in the household. It was her idea that when Athenais was well enough to travel, instead of going to Paris for the winter, she should go to her aunt's chateau at St. Brieuc, and quietly recuperate there in the good sea air.

Twelve days after his arrival at Becherel Roger received a reply to his letter to the Marquis. In effect it said little more than: "I approve the measures you have taken regarding my daughter, and you have my full authority to carry out any other measures you may think requisite to her well-being. However, now that she is in good hands there seems no reason why you should linger unduly at Becherel, so the sooner you return to Paris with the Domaine de St. Hilaire docu­ments, the better."

There was no message for Athenais, no indication that the stony heart of the Marquis had been touched by his young daughter's affliction;

he still appeared to be entirely wrapped up in his own concerns. In disgust Roger stuffed the missive into his pocket and forgot it.

A week later he received another letter from M. de Rochambeau, this time by personal courier. It said:

To my great annoyance I have returned to Paris to find you still absent. Why is this? Paintendre is a fool who understands nothing of my affairs. Get to horse at once, and rejoin me here at the earliest possible moment.

Again there was no inquiry as to how Athenais was progressing, let alone as to the health of his servants. Yet Roger knew that if he wished to keep his job he must obey the summons without delay. He sat down and wrote a note to Athenais, which ran:

Mademoiselle, I have received your father's command to return immediately to Paris. Having followed the progress of your illness through Dr. Hollier I am greatly rejoiced to know that you are near recovered. I should count it a great favour if you would permit me to take leave of you before my departure.

Five minutes later he received a verbal reply by the footman who had taken up his note. The man bowed to him and said: "Monsieur, Mademoiselle desires you to wait upon her after your evening meal."

The Marquis's courier had not arrived until after mid-day and, for the sake of reaching Pans a few hours earlier, Roger had no intention of forgoing the interview that Athenais had granted him. However, he arranged with Chenou to have a coach ready for him at dawn the following morning, and had the great iron chest containing the documents carried down to the front hall in readiness for loading. Early in the evening he dressed himself in his best suit, which he had brought with him, arranged his hair with care and put a beauty patch on his left cheek. When he looked at himself in the mirror he was satisfied that not even the Abbé de Perigord could have surpassed him in his new role of a fashionable exquisite.

After he had supped he went upstairs with a beating heart. He felt reasonably confident that Athenais would not have consented to see him unless she intended to thank him for the part he had played in bringing order out of chaos at the chateau; but, whether her thanks would be purely formal, or couched in the warmer note of renewed friendship, yet remained to be seen.

One of the Sisters of Mercy admitted him to the room. As he came round the corner of the screen he saw that Athenais was sitting up in bed with her hair properly dressed, and that the last traces of her sores had completely disappeared under a dusting of rouge and powder.

For a moment she did not look at him, but addressed the nun: "Sister Angelique, I have business to discuss with my father's secretary. While we are talking you would, no doubt, like to give your mind to your devotions. Pray avail yourself of my oratory."

Without a word the nun obediently crossed the room, and dis­appeared behind a curtain that concealed an alcove fitted up as a small private chapel. While she knelt there she was still, theoretically, in the room and chaperoning Athenais; but, for all practical purposes, Roger was now alone with his divinity.

He thought that she had never looked more beautiful as she turned her big blue eyes on him, and said:

"Monsieur; on learning this afternoon that orders had come for you to return to Paris, I took the opportunity to write to my father. Please convey my missive to him immediately on your arrival."

With a bow Roger took the letter that she held out to him. He had counted more than he knew on being restored to her favour before he left Becherel; but now it seemed that she had delayed his departure only in order to write this letter, and he was bitterly disappointed.

"It occurred to me," she went on, "that you have long outstayed the purpose of your original mission to Becherel, and I thought that my father should be informed of the reason for that. Dr. Hollier has told me of all that you have done to restore order and health among the servants here, and we all owe you our gratitude."

He bowed again. "Mademoiselle, I could do no less; and as Monseigneur is angry with me for having delayed so long your letter will prove a boon in modifying his displeasure."

"I trust so." She fiddled with the ribbons of her bed-jacket, and added a little uncertainly: "You wished to say something to me before your departure?"

"Only, Mademoiselle, how happy I am that you are now recovered from your illness and need only rest to restore your full health again."

"Have you no more to say than that?"

"Now that I have seen you, I would add my thanks to God for having preserved your beauty."

Again her words came a little uncertainly: "Under His mercy, Monsieur, I owe that to you. And, since you show no mind to broach a matter that concerns us both, 'tis for me to do so."

His pulses began to race as she lowered her eyes and went on, almost in a whisper. "That night when you arrived here I did a terrible thing; and 'tis generous of you, now that I am well, to spare me your reproaches. By making you kiss me at the height of my fever 'tis a miracle that I did not give you the sickness."

" 'Twas my fault," he said gently, almost overcome by her sudden display of feeling. "I should have waited a more fitting occasion to ask your forgiveness for what had passed before. You were half delirious and knew not what you did. I pray you think no more of it."

"But I must. I knew then that you really loved me, and that I ill deserved it from having been so harsh and wicked towards you."

"Please!" he begged, hardly daring to look at her. But she raised her eyes and her words came more firmly:

"There is only one way in which I can make amends. To wipe away the memory of those other kisses you may, an it please you, kiss me again now."

He was trembling now. Stepping forward he took one of her hands in his and placed his other arm about her shoulders. Stooping above her he took a long breath and, as she raised her face to his, he whispered: "Nay, I'll not do it to pleasure myself alone, but only if you wish it also."

"Rojé I do!" she cried suddenly: and flinging her soft arms round his neck she drew his mouth down to hers.

For a space they clung together, then she began to cry softly.

"My loveliness," he murmured, drawing away a little. "Why do'st thou weep?"

"Because—because I am so happy," she sobbed, "yet, at the same time, so sad."

"What troubles thee, my sweet Princess?"

Choking back her tears she smiled fondly up at him. " 'Tis that I would so terribly that I could be thy Princess. Yet, far as thou hast already travelled on the road to fortune, dear miller's youngest son, there can be no hope of that."

"Thou, thou lovest me then?" he breathed.

She nodded. "With all my heart. 'Twas naught but stupid pride that stayed me from confessing it before. For years I have built romance about thee, and thought of thee always as my perfect knight."

Again they kissed, not once but a score of times; and for the next half hour murmured only sweet endearments to one another.

At length Athenais placed her hands upon his shoulders and put him gently from her. " Tis time for thee to leave me," she said, with a sigh, "or Sister Angelique's curiosity will overcome her piety."

"So soon," he protested. "Nay, she will continue with her devotions for a while yet, and there are still a thousand things that I would say to thee."

"And I to thee. But lest she comes upon us suddenly we must now be circumspect, and thou hadst best sit there in that chair, as though we were in truth discussing business."

As she began to tidy herself and he took the chair, he said: "Tell me, beloved, what are your plans; and when can I hope to see you again?"

" 'Twill be the new year now before I come to Paris," she replied. "In that letter to my father I have asked his consent to travel, when I am well enough, to my aunt's chateau at St. Brieuc. 'Twas Madame Marie-Ange's idea. She put it in one of the little notes she sends me each day. Though 'tis winter the sea air there will aid my convalescence and 'tis certain my father will agree."

"And when you reach Paris, what then? Think you we will ever find an opportunity to be alone together?"

"Oh, I trust so! Now that I am seventeen my father will, I doubt not, arrange some suitable marriage for me. But 'tis hardly likely that I shall be married before the summer; and in the meantime we shall be living under the same roof."

Roger sighed. "The prospect of your marriage fills me with dismay. Fate has been cruel indeed to separate us by so many barriers."

She shook her head and smiled sweetly. "Think not on that, I beg; for no profit can come to either of us from railing at a decree which was ordained by God. I am overjoyed that you should have won my father's confidence and prospered so; but your lack of lands and quarterings renders any question of marriage between us utterly impossible."

Leaning forward and taking her hand again, Roger said: "Listen, dear love. 'Tis true that I have no lands, and no money other than that which your father gives me; but at least I am of gentle birth and have the right to bear arms. I would have told you of this before but I have had little opportunity and, until this evening, I feared that you might disbelieve me."

While she listened, thrilled with excitement, he then disclosed to her that he was English and how it was that he had come both to leave his own country and, at their first meeting, conceal the truth about himself from her.

"How wondrous strange," she murmured, when he had done. "Just to think 'twas that absurd doll of mine which caused you to conceal your true identity for so long. And 'tis more like a fairy tale than ever that my miller's youngest son should transpire to be a Chevalier."

Although he knew within himself that he was on hopeless ground, the brightness of her eyes encouraged him to say: "Think you that if I disclosed the truth to your father he could be brought to consider me as a suitor to your hand? 'Twould mean our waiting for some years yet, but if he'd agree and give me his countenance I might, by that time, have made enough money to purchase an estate."

"Nay, Rojé, nay," she said sadly. "Put such thoughts from your mind, I beg. My father would never consent to have me unmarried for so long. Besides, he will require me to marry into one of the best famihes in France; so that even if, by some miracle, the King made you a Count to-morrow, he would still not consider you a suitable husband for me. There is, too, another thing. All Englishmen are Protestants, are they not?"

"Not all, but the vast majority; and I am one. I visited Saint Melaine only to see you; and have gone to other Catholic churches while in France simply so that I should not be thought irreligious."

"Would you be willing to become a Catholic?"

Her question was one that had never even occurred to him and with his upbringing, such a step seemed a terrible one to take. "I— I've never thought about it," he stammered. "But I fear I'd be very loath to change my religion."

"There, you see!" she squeezed his hand. "And, my father apart, I could never bring myself to wed a heretic. 'Twas decreed in heaven that we should never marry, so 'tis best that we should resign ourselves to that."

"Though it breaks my heart, I must confess you right," he murmured sadly. "Yet 'tis more than I can bear, to think of you married to another."

They were silent for a moment then she said softly: " Tis time you left me. Kiss me again before you go and think not too gloomily upon the future. Such marriages as mine will be are not of the heart but of convention, and entered into only for the uniting of two great families. What does it matter who I marry so long as you know that my heart is yours and that 'tis you I love.

CHAPTER XIX

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY

ON Roger's arrival in Paris, M. de Rochambeau gave only a moment to Athenais's letter. Having read it quickly through he remarked that the delay in Roger's return appeared to have been fully justified, and ordered him to draft a reply to the effect that, under Chenou's escort, Mademoiselle should proceed to her aunt's at St. Briac as soon as she felt well enough to do so. He then plunged into current business.

It was soon clear that the Marquis, having failed in his attempt to block the Anglo-French commercial treaty, had now turned his attention to the United Provinces, and that during the past month, he had informed himself in great detail as to the affairs of that troubled country; so Roger got down to mastering such information on the subject as was at his disposal.

He knew already that it was the French influence with the Republican party that had dragged the Dutch into the war against England in 1780, and that although the war had cost the Dutchmen dear it had done a great deal to strengthen anti-British feeling. French intervention in the dispute over the opening of the Scheldt had saved the Dutch from having to engage in a desperate struggle against Austria, and this had been followed immediately by a Franco-Dutch alliance, which, during the past year, had done much to further strengthen the good will between the two nations to the detriment of Britain.

Meanwhile, with the rise of French influence, the situation of the Stadtholder had become even more precarious. His mother had been an English Princess and his wife, now that Frederick the Great was dead, was the sister of the new King of Prussia, Frederick-William II; but neither power was in a position to sway the councils of his unruly States-General in his favour. Fourteen months before, he had been driven from The Hague and forced to take refuge in Gelderland, the only one of his provinces still loyal to him, and ever since the country had been in a state of increasing unrest.

On going into matters Roger found that a new crisis had occurred just before he had left for Becherel. The States of Gelderland had advised William V to take military possession of two towns in that province, which, in defiance of his prerogative, had named their own magistrates. His doing so had resulted in the rebellious States of Holland passing a motion suspending him from his office of Captain-General, and he had appealed to his brother-in-law to maintain him in his authority. Instead of sending armed support, the King of Prussia had sent only a special emissary, in the person of Baron Gortz, to argue with the leaders of the Republican party.

These were Mynheers Van Berkel, Gyzlaas and Zeebergen, the Pensionaries of Amsterdam, Dordrecht and Haarlem respectively. With a few others they appeared to be in complete control of the provinces of West Friesland, Holland, Zealand and Utrecht; and were concerned in a plot to deprive the Stadtholder of his office and declare it no longer hereditary in his family.

Any such move, Roger felt, must result in war; since, if England and Prussia were pushed to it they would support the Stadtholder by force of arms; and, for the moment, he could not see what M. de Rochambeau stood to gain by an outbreak of hostilities. France was now nearer to bankruptcy than ever, and could not possibly afford to fight. Civil war in the United Provinces could, therefore, only mean that the Stadtholder, backed by France's enemies, would triumph over the Republicans, and the great influence that France had acquired in the country by peaceable means be lost to her.

That factor was evidently fully appreciated by M. de Vergennes, as it emerged that he was on the point of sending a special mission to the Stadtholders' Court to collaborate with Baron Gortz and the British Minister, Sir James Harris, in an attempt to reconcile William V and his numerous provincial Parliaments. But, as the Marquis was always opposed to M. de Vergennes's pacific policies, Roger felt certain that M. de Rochambeau's sudden preoccupation with Dutch politics was inspired by some deep-laid scheme that boded no good to Britain, and he determined to get to the bottom of it if he possibly could.

His belief was confirmed a few days later when the Marquis, displaying high good humour, informed him that M. de Rayneval had been appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to their High Mightinesses the States-General of the United Provinces; since he already knew that this high official of the French Foreign Ministry was the creature of M. de Rochambeau and his friends, and would follow their secret instructions to the detriment of those given to him by his Minister.

On the 18th of November the Court returned from Fontainebleau to enter on its winter season of endless amusements. The move alone cost a small fortune, as Roger learned in conversation with the secretary of the Due de Polignac, who, as Intendant-General de Postes, was responsible for arranging such royal journeys. No less than three thousand one hundred and fifty post horses had had to be placed at the Court's disposal for four days or more, to the great detriment of all ordinary travel facilities. Yet this was but a drop in the ocean of money required for the maintenance of the Court.

The Sovereigns seemed to have no idea that money, like grain or any other commodity, was not unlimited, and took time and effort to produce. The establishment of the Queen, exclusive of the salaries of her principal officers of State, had that year amounted to thirty-eight millions of francs. The King's expenditure was naturally far greater and, in addition, he was spending huge sums on building additional wings to his palaces at Rambouillet, Compiegne and Fontainebleau, and declared that next year a thorough renovation of the whole of the great palace of Versailles would be absolutely necessary.

Everyone knew that a crash was inevitable, and it was an open secret that M. de Calonne was now at his wits' end to supply the unceasing demands that the King made upon him. For three years he had juggled with the finances of France with all the ability of a super crook, but the day of reckoning was fast approaching. To stave it off he was resorting to the most desperate expedients. The Corporation of Paris decided to spend three millions a year for some time to come on public works, so he forced them to borrow thirty millions at once, left them three and took the other twenty-seven into the Treasury, promising to pay it back as required, as at that junction he could think of no other way of meeting the pensions due to certain courtiers.

The irresponsibility of these favoured few was equalled only by their arrogance, and in December, Roger heard of a particularly flagrant example of it. The Archbishop of Cambrai being out on a shooting party, trespassed on the property of one of his neighbours. Upon the gamekeeper of the adjoining property protesting, the Archbishop did not even deign to reply, but turned his gun on the man and shot him, wounding him grievously.

Yet, even at the height of the Treasury's embarrassments, the King did not cease from ordering new battleships to be built, or M. de Calonne from financing the most wildcat schemes. One, that aroused much public interest, was put forward by a Monsieur Montgolfier who asserted that he had discovered a method of directing the flight of balloons and could run an air-freight service between Paris and Marseilles at a profit.

Roger was reminded by this of M. Joseph Fouché, who had given as his reason for blackmailing old Aristotle Fenelon his need for money to finance balloon experiments; and he wondered what had become of the lanky, corpselike Oratorian teacher. On Roger's remarking one morning to a group of people at the Abbe1 de Perigord's, on M. de Calonne's folly in adding to his difficulties by backing such hare­brained ventures, the Comte de Mirabeau, who was among them, declared with a laugh:

" 'Tis not that he has the faintest hope of profiting by it, but seeks to divert the people's attention from far graver issues. He is endeavouring to buy time by the old expedient of giving the populace 'bread and games.'"

"He would be in no need to provide the latter could he but find the means to purchase the former," smiled de Perigord.

"You have said it, Abbé," agreed the pockmarked Count. " 'Tis certain now that half France will be faced with starvation again this winter; and, whether the King likes it or not, before the year is out he will be forced to call an Assembly of Notables. 'Tis the only resource he has left for pulling the country out of the mess it is in."

"But surely that would be tantamount to a surrender of the Royal prerogative and the granting of a Constitution," Roger objected.

The Count shook his leonine head. "Not necessarily. The nobility, the clergy and the provincial Parliaments would all be represented in an Assembly of Notables, so they would, in the main, express the will of the nation. They would be asked to recommend measures for getting us out of our difficulties; but the monarch would not be bound to accept their advice. Yet it would be a step in the right direction, since once such a body is assembled who knows what powers it might not decide to take into its own hands. Maybe 'twould be the beginning of getting our addle-pated King where we want him."

"Think you the Court is not also aware of that?" said the elegant Louis de Narbonne, with a cynical smile. "And 'tis for that reason the Royal Council will use all their weight to prevent such a project. No Assembly of Notables has been convened since 1626, and after having managed for a hundred and sixty years without consulting the nation 'tis unthinkable that the Court should expose itself to the perils of doing so now."

Nevertheless, de Mirabeau proved the truer prophet, for so desperate were the straits in which M. de Calonne found himself by the end of the year that, on the 30th December, he himself advised the King to convene the Notables.

At this news public excitement reached fever pitch throughout the length and breadth of France, but with Roger it barely registered, as he heard that day that Athenais was expected back in Paris early in January.

She arrived on the eighth; Roger's nineteenth birthday. When asked his age he still gave it as two years more than was the fact but in both appearance and manner he now looked all of twenty-one. During his 'teens he had had the good fortune to grow steadily, so that he had developed into a tall, dark young man nearly six feet in height and with shoulders in due proportion.

He was out, on a mission for the Marquis, at the time of Athenais's arrival; but, having learned of it on his return, he hung about the upper hall that evening in order to see her on her way to join her father in the drawing-room, before they went in to dinner. As she came down the passage she was giving an arm to Madame Marie-Ange, who, he thought, had aged greatly in the past few months and was walking slowly with the aid of an ebony stick.

They both stopped to greet him with the utmost kindness, and remained talking to him for a few moments. Athenais was looking ravishing after her sojourn by the sea, and her eyes sent him the sweetest messages that she could not voice in front of her duenna. He had been puzzling his wits for weeks past as to how he could communicate with her in secret on her return, but he dared not trust any of the servants and had decided that he must wait to see how the land lay when she was actually in residence. To his joy she had evidently been thinking on the same lines and gave him there and then the opportunity that he was seeking.

"Monsieur Breuc," she said sweetly, "you are so knowledgeable about books, and now that I am back in Paris I wish to read all the new ones that have been published during my long absence. I pray you make out a list of the best titles and bring it to me in my boudoir some time to-morrow morning."

"I will do so with pleasure, Mademoiselle," he replied, hiding by a low bow the delight he could not prevent showing in his face.

As they turned away from him the footman-in-waiting threw open the door of the drawing-room, and Roger caught a glimpse of its interior. The Marquis was standing near the fireplace, magnificent as ever in satin and lace, and with him was a younger man, much more plainly dressed.

The visitor was about twenty-five years of age, tall, well-built, and good-looking. Roger could not suppress a twinge of jealousy at the thought that this handsome stranger was about to dine with Athenais; and his jealousy was by no means lessened when, on mquiring of Monsieur Roland later that evening, he learned how the young man came to be there.

"He is the son of M. de la Tour d'Auvergne," the major-domo informed him, "and he escorted Mademoiselle from St. Brieuc to Paris. I have it from his valet that he met Mademoiselle at her aunt's and has formed an attachment to her; so decided to accompany her hither."

Somewhat perturbed, Roger made his way to his room. He could not possibly complain of Athenais's reception of him, yet it was something of a shock to think that she had actually brought a suitor for her hand to Paris with her. Of the young man he knew nothing, except that his lineage was irreproachable. The family of de la Tour d'Auvergne was as old as that of Hugh Capet who had founded the Royal dynasty of France. There were streets in half the towns of Brittany named after them and Roger recalled having heard it said that, so proud were they of their name that, centuries ago, they had taken for their motto: "I am not Marquis, Duke or Prince; I am de la Tour d'Auvergne," so it seemed unlikely that M. de Rochambeau could have any grounds for refusing to give the young man his daughter.

Roger tried to console himself with the thought that since Athenais must marry someone during the coming summer, and it could not be himself, it was fortunate for her that it should be a man of a suitable age and pleasing appearance. He then sat down to write her a long love letter, putting into it all the things he had thought of and would have liked to include in letters to her, had he dared to write to her during the past two months. After which he made out the list of books, and went to bed.

In the morning, as soon as the Marquis had settled himself in his sanctum, he called Roger in and said to him:

"Breuc, we have a visitor staying with us; M. le Vicomte de la Tour d'Auvergne. You will, of course, know the name. His is one of the few great families that have consistently rejected the blandishments of the Court for the past three reigns; preferring to live in the old feudal manner on their estates rather than succumb to the attractions of Versailles. In consequence, M. le Vicomte has never before been in Paris; but he now plans to spend some months here. He will require a lodging, but it should not be too expensive, as his family is only moderately well off. As he does not know the town, I wish you to wait upon him this afternoon and go out with him in search of accommoda­tion suited to his means."

Having assured the Marquis of his diligence in the matter, Roger returned to his work, then at midday went up to Athenais's boudoir.

Madame Marie-Ange was there with her and, in front of the duenna. Athenais treated him with casual friendliness; but, in the course of ten minutes' conversation on the most successful novels of the day, he managed to pass her his letter and receive one from her.

Immediately he had taken leave of them he rushed up to his room to read it:

Roger, my dear one,

The joy of beholding you again yesler 'een was almost unbearable, but I beg you for my sake to use the greatest circumspection. Madame Marie-Ange has I am sure guessed our love but little knows that we have confessed it to one another. She has a great affection for me and a high regard for you. But her sense of duty is stronger than either sentiment and were she to discover that our lips had met she would surely denounce us to my father. For me that would mean confinement within the grey walls of a convent, perhaps for life, and for you such dire punishment as makes me swoon to think upon. Therefore let utmost caution ever be your watchword in all our dealings.

I have give much thought as to how we may at times be together yet keep our secret, and have devised a plan. There is at the top of the house in its east wing an old playroom. 'Tis dusty and neglected and no one ever goes there. I could on occasion, but not too frequently, go up there to seek out some old book or toy without arousing suspicion. Inquire circumspectly as to its situation and seek if there is not a way by which you could reach it, without danger to yourself across the roof. Its window looks out on some leads so can you but reach them unobserved 'twould be easy for me to admit you, and no one could observe me doing so from the street or any other window of the house.

Anxious as I am to hear your dear voice and gaze upon you at my pleasure once again, caution dictates that we should not attempt a meeting until my father next goes without me to spend a night or more at Versailles.

On the first evening of his absence I will await you in the playroom between six of the clock and seven. Come to me if you can, dear Miller's youngest son.

Thine in love,

Athenais Hermonie.

Wild with elation Roger kissed the divine missive a score of times, and could hardly contain his impatience to find out the situation of the playroom which promised him more joys than heaven had to offer. Having thought the matter over during his midday meal he decided that the room probably lay at no great distance from his own, on the far side of the ridge of slates that obstructed the view from his window; since, in the east wing of the house, there seemed no other place where it could be, and he knew that another staircase serving Athenais's apart­ments ran up in that direction.

As soon as he had finished eating he returned to his room, climbed out of his window on to the leads and made his way round the high, sloping roof on their far side. Sure enough, beyond it lay another flat stretch of leads and a dormer window similar to his own. It was very grimy and the inside of its panes were half covered with cobwebs; but on peering through it he could make out an old rocking-horse, and knew that he had found his goal.

In his excitement he had forgotten all about M. de la Tour d'Auvergne, but on going downstairs he found him quietly waiting in the hall. The Vicomte proved to have a good straight nose, prominent chin, clear grey eyes and auburn hair. He was a little under Roger's height and was well but simply dressed.

On Roger introducing himself and apologising for his lateness, the Vicomte said in a pleasant voice: "Please do not distress yourself, Monsieur Breuc. I have oceans of time, whereas you, as M. de Rochambeau's secretary, must be a very busy man. 'Tis I who should apologise for adding myself to your other burdens."

Such words from a noble to a secretary were so unusual that Roger could hardly believe his ears; but his reactions in such circumstances had always been swift, and with a flash of his white teeth he bowed a second time. "Monsieur le Vicomte, your charming consideration makes me doubly eager to be of service to you. I pray you to command me not only this afternoon but at any time during your stay in Paris."

The other laughed. " 'Tis a rash offer. Monsieur; since I hope to be here till summer at the least; and as I like your looks I may take you up on it. But come! I am agog for you to show me this mighty city."

Putting on their top-coats they went out to the waiting coach and drew the warm furs in it about their legs. When the coachman asked for directions the Vicomte declared that there would be ample time for him to find lodgings later and that this afternoon he wished to see something of the capital; so for the next two hours they drove in and out through the narrow streets while Roger pointed out the sights of interest.

On closer acquaintance he fell more than ever under the quiet charm of M. de la Tour d'Auvergne. The Vicomte was so certain of himself that it clearly never even occurred to him to make a parade of his nobility. Whenever the coach stopped and they got out to view a church or monument he asked his questions of vergers, and others to whom they spoke, with simple directness, and never failed to thank them courteously for their trouble. His manner had no resemblance to the exquisite grace which characterised the Abbé de Perigord but was so spontaneous and friendly that Roger was reminded by it of the best type of English gentleman. He was, too, extremely frank about his affairs and, as far as Roger was concerned, somewhat embarrassingly so; since on their way home he took occasion to remark:

"To be honest, I am in no haste to find a lodging; so I trust you will bear with me if I appear difficult upon that score. The fact is that I am most mightily smitten with Mademoiselle de Rochambeau; so the longer I can remain beneath the same roof with her, while not out­staying my welcome, the better I'll be pleased. I scarce dare to hope that, country bumpkin as I am, I'll be fortunate enough to find favour in the eyes of so lovely a lady; but at least while I am in her father's house I'll have some advantage over the more gifted beaux, who are certain to besiege her each time she goes to Versailles."

"I cannot answer for M. de Rochambeau," Roger replied, "but I should imagine that he would be agreeable to your remaining at the hotel as long as you like."

He was about to add: "And it would certainly be sound strategy for you to do so," but refrained, owing to his extraordinarily mixed feelings about his companion. Reason told him that any girl would be lucky to get such a likeable fellow as M. de la Tour d'Auvergne for a husband and that he would be wise to do all he could to aid the match, lest Athenais's father chose for her someone much less suitable from the personal point of view. But his whole instinct as a man revolted at the idea of Athenais in anyone's arms but his own, and the meaner side of his nature kept whispering that the more attractive the fiance selected for her the less chance he would have of retaining her affections himself. At present, however, he seemed in no danger of losing them, as her letter to him could not have been more single-hearted, and she had not even made a mention of the Vicomte in it.

Two days later the Marquis went to Versailles and Roger, to his intense relief, learned that Athenais was not, on this occasion, to accompany him; as her dressmakers had not yet had time to furnish her with her winter collection, which she was in the process of selecting from the latest fashions.

The winter's night had closed in early and it was snowing with gentle persistence; but Roger scarcely gave a thought to the weather as he climbed out of his window and crossed the roof. He was a good quarter of an hour too early for the rendezvous so he crouched down out of the wind and, warmed by the glow that lay in his heart and brain, let the minutes drift by in glorious anticipation, until, at last, a light appeared behind the cobwebs of the playroom window. Athehais opened it and he jumped inside. Next moment, without a word, they were fast in one another's arms.

It seemed that they would never cease from kissing, but, at length, she drew him to an old sofa where they sat down and embraced again. Breathless, unconscious of the cold, they clung together, savouring to the utmost every second of this meeting that both of them had dreamed of for so long. It was many minutes before their words became anything more than hardly distinguishable whispers of love and tenderness; then, when they fell to talking in earnest there seemed so terribly much to say and so desperately little time to say it in.

Each in turn urged the other to be patient and not to jeopardise their happiness by some rash act; then each in turn swore that it would be the death of them if they could not meet soon again. Athenais said that she dared not come up to the old playroom with any frequency since Madame Marie-Ange knew that few of the things in it were any concern of hers; the place being really the province of long-dead generations of young de Rochambeaux, who had lived in happier times when it was still fashionable for noble families to bring up their children in their own homes. Yet neither of them could think of any other place where they might meet in safety. Roger suggested that she might have the room cleaned up and say that she had decided to use it as an extra boudoir; but she objected that if she did so Madame Marie-Ange might at any time come up to sit there with her, and so surprise them.

By the burning down of the single candle that Athenais had brought with her to light the room, they suddenly realised to their distress that their hour was up, although both of them had been unconscious of the flight of time, and thought it hardly begun. For Athenais to linger there longer would make her late for dinner, and so arouse Madame Marie-Ange's curiosity as to what had detained her; and that, in turn, would enhance the risk of arousing suspicion when she said that she was going up to the old playroom again. They could only leave it that each time the Marquis went to Versailles, and did not take her with him, on the first night of his absence they should meet there at six o'clock.

For a further five minutes they clung to one another and kissed with renewed ardour, then Roger stumbled out on to the snowy leads and Athenais shut the window of Elysium behind him.

He had to force himself to go downstairs and eat his evening meal with his under-secretary, Paintendre, as though nothing had occurred; but immediately afterwards he excused himself and took refuge in his room. There he could give way to his feelings and think freely of Athenais. Trembling with emotion, he passed the rest of the evening, and sat far into the night, reliving in his imagination every moment of that glorious hour with her, again and again.

Two days later he had an unexpected and most unpleasant encounter. He was working at his desk when M. de la Tour d'Auvergne and a young man of about seventeen, wearing the uniform cocked hat, blue cut-away coat and white breeches of a military cadet, entered his office. For a moment Roger did not recognise the youth, then the resemblance to Athenais struck him, and he realised that he was once more face to face with Count Lucien.

Having smiled at Roger, M. le Tour d'Auvergne turned to Count Lucien and said: "This is Monsieur Breuc.M. de Rochambeau's secretary, and I doubt not he will advance you the funds of which you stand in need."