the world has never seen their like. No man may safely know his neighbour. Now you, sir,' he pursued, turning to the younger man, 'you have the air of a sans-culotte, yet from your speech you seem an honest enough gentleman.'
The fellow laughed with unction.
'The air of a sans-culotte?' he cried. 'My faith, yes. So much so, that this morning I imposed myself as a courier from Paris upon no less an astute sleuth-hound of the Convention than the Citizen-deputy La Boulaye.'
'Is it possible?' cried Caron, his eyes opening wide in wonder. 'But how, Monsieurs? For surely a courier must bear letters, and—'
'So did I, so did I, my friend,' the other interrupted, with vain glory. 'I knocked a patriotic courier over the head to obtain them. He was genuine, that other courier, and I passed myself out of France with his papers.'
'Monsieur is amusing himself at the expense of my credulity,' La Boulaye complained.
'My good man, I am telling you facts,' the other insisted.
'But how could such a thing be accomplished?' asked Caron, seating himself at the table, and resting his chin upon his hand, his gaze so full of admiration as to seem awestruck.
'How? I will tell you. I am from Artois.'
'You'll be repeating that charming story once too often,' Des Cadoux cautioned him.
'Pish, you timorous one!' he laughed, and resumed his tale. 'I am from Artois, then. I have some property there, and it lately came to my ears that this assembly of curs they call the Convention had determined to make an end of me. But before they could carry out their design, those sons of dogs, my tenants, incited by the choice examples set them by other tenantry, made a descent on my Chateau one night, and did themselves the pleasure of burning it to the ground. By a miracle I escaped with my life and lay hidden for three weeks in the house of an old peasant who had remained faithful. In that time I let my beard grow, and trained my hair into a patriotic unkemptness. Then, in filthy garments, like any true Republican, I set out to cross the frontier. As I approached it, I was filled with fears that I might not win across, and then, in the moment of my doubtings, I came upon that most opportune of couriers. I had the notion to change places with him, and I did. He was the bearer of a letter to the Deputy La Boulaye, of whom you may have heard, and this letter I opened to discover that it charged him to effect my arrest.'
If La Boulaye was startled, his face never betrayed it, not by so much as the quiver of an eyelid. He sat on, his jaw in his palm, his eyes admiringly bent upon the speaker.
'You may judge of my honesty, and of how fully sensible I was of the trust I had undertaken, when I tell you that with my own hand I delivered the letter this morning to that animal La Boulaye at Boisvert.' He seemed to swell with pride in his achievement. 'Diable!' he continued. 'Mine was a fine piece of acting. I would you could have seen me play the part of the patriot. Think of the irony of it! I won out of France with the very papers ordering my arrest. Ma foi! You should have seen me befool that dirt of a deputy! It was a performance worthy of Talma himself.' And he looked from Cadoux to La Boulaye for applause.
'I doubt not,' said the Deputy coldly. 'It must have been worth witnessing. But does it not seem a pity to spoil everything and to neutralise so wonderful an achievement for the mere sake of boasting of it to a poor, ignorant peasant, Monsieur le Vicomte Anatole d'Ombreval?'
With a sudden cry, the pseudo courier leapt to his feet, whilst Des Cadoux turned on the stool he occupied to stare alarmedly at the speaker.
'Name of God! Who are you?' demanded Ombreval advancing a step.
With his sleeve La Boulaye rubbed part of the disfiguring smear from his face as he stood up and made answer coolly:
'I am that dirt of a Deputy whom you befooled at Boisvert.' Then, raising his voice, 'Garin!' he shouted, and immediately the door opened and the soldiers filed in.
Ombreval stood like a statue, thunderstruck with amazement at this most unlooked-for turning of the tables, his face ashen, his weak mouth fallen open and his eyes fearful.
Des Cadoux, who had also risen, seemed to take in the situation at a glance. Like a well-bred gamester who knows how to lose with a good grace the old gentleman laughed drily to himself as he tapped his snuff- box.
'We are delightfully taken, cher Vicomte,' he murmured, applying the tobacco to his nostril as he spoke. 'It's odds you won't be able to repeat that pretty story to any more of your friends. I warned you that you inclined to relate it too often.'
With a sudden oath, Ombreval—moved to valour by the blind rage that possessed him—sprang at La Boulaye. But, as suddenly, Garin caught his arms from behind and held him fast.
'Remove them both,' La Boulaye commanded. 'Place them in safety for the night, and see that they do not escape you, Garin, as you value your neck.'
Des Coudax shut his snuff-box with a snap.
'For my part, I am ready, Monsieur—your pardon—Citizen,' he said, 'and I shall give you no trouble. But since I am not, I take it, included in the orders you have received, I have a proposal to make which may prove mutually convenient.'
'Pray make it, Citizen,' said La Boulaye.
'It occurs to me that it may occasion you some measure of annoyance to carry me all the way to Paris—and certainly, for my part, I should much prefer not to undertake the journey. For one thing, it will be fatiguing, for another, I have no desire to look upon the next world through the little window of the guillotine. I wish, then, to propose, Citizen,' pursued the old nobleman, nonchalantly dusting some fragments of tobacco from his cravat, 'that you deal with me out of hand.'
'How, Citizen?' inquired La Boulaye.
'Why, your men, I take it are tolerable marksmen. I think that it might prove more convenient to both of us if you were to have me shot as soon as there is light enough.'
La Boulaye's eyes rested in almost imperceptible kindness upon Des Cadoux. Here, at least, was an aristocrat with a spirit to be admired and emulated.
'You are choosing the lesser of two evils, Citizen,' said the Deputy.
'Precisely,' answered Des Cadoux.
'But possibly, Citizen, it may be yours to avoid both. You shall hear from me in the morning. I beg that you will sleep tranquilly in the meantime. Garin, remove the prisoners.'
CHAPTER XV. LA BOULAYE BAITS HIS HOOK
For fully an hour after their prisoners had been removed La Boulaye paced the narrow limits of the kitchen with face inscrutable and busy mind. He recalled what Suzanne had said touching her betrothal to Ombreval, whom she looked to meet at Treves. This miserable individual, then, was the man for whose sake she had duped him. But Ombreval at least was in Caron's power, and it came to him now that by virtue of that circumstance he might devise a way to bring her back without the need to go after her. He would send her word—aye, and proof— that he had taken him captive, and it should be hers to choose whether she would come to his rescue and humble herself to save him or leave him to his fate. In that hour it seemed all one to La Boulaye which course she followed, since by either, he reasoned, she must be brought to suffer. That he loved her was with him now a matter that had sunk into comparative insignificance. The sentiment that ruled his mind was anger, with its natural concomitant—the desire to punish.
And when morning came the Deputy's view of the situation was still unchanged. He was astir at an early hour, and without so much as waiting to break his fast, he bade Garin bring in the prisoners. Their appearance was in each case typical. Ombreval was sullen and his dress untidy, even when allowance had been made for the inherent untidiness of the Republican disguise which he had adopted to so little purpose. Des Cadoux looked well and fresh after his rest, and gave the Deputy an airy 'Good morning' as he entered. He had been at some pains, too, with his toilet, and although his hair was slightly disarranged and most of the powder was gone from the right side, suggesting that he had lain on it, his appearance in the main was creditably elegant.
'Citizen Ombreval,' said La Boulaye, in that stern, emotionless voice that was becoming characteristic of
