"And so he will be, by the grace of God," broke in Laurent confidently. "Personally, I do not see how we can fail. We were just speaking of our chances when you arrived, and as far as it is humanly possible to foresee events, the foundries will be turning out arms and munitions for the King's Majesty within the week." "I should just like to hear exactly how we stand," here interposed the Vicomte d'Ache--a stout, florid man, with full lips and protruding eyes, which he kept fixed on Mademoiselle de Courson with undisguised admiration. "De Puisaye has told me nothing definite; in fact, he has been talking somewhat at random. I never saw a man quite so confident of success." "And no wonder," quoth M. de Courson, whose sober manner contrasted vividly with the feverish excitement of all his friends. "No wonder that de Puisaye is confident of success. The situation in this little corner of Normandy is more favourable to the King's cause than any that hath ever gone before anywhere. Of course, we all know the importance and the value of the La Frontenay foundries." "We do," assented d'Ache solemnly. "They belong to my nephew, Ronnay de Maurel. He inherited them from his father--who was my sister Denise's first husband--when he was a mere baby. Old Gaston de Maurel administered his fortune and the foundries for him for many years, as Ronnay joined the Republican army when he was little more than sixteen, and was away from home for over twelve years." "Old Gaston de Maurel is dead, is he not?" queried one of the men. "No, he is not, worse luck!" commented Laurent, "though he was said to be dying a year and more ago." "Anyhow," rejoined M. de Courson, "he has ceased to count for some time--in fact, ever since Ronnay came home wounded after Austerlitz and took over the management of his works himself." "There are rumours all over the country of the eccentricity of the two de Maurels," interposed Prigent; "they are said to be hopeless rustics and quite illiterate. I trust," he added, with old-fashioned gallantry, "that Madame la Marquise will pardon this uncomplimentary remark about her eldest son." "I pray you, do not spare me," said Madame, with a forced little laugh. "My son and I have nothing in common. As a matter of fact, people have talked a great deal of nonsense. Ronnay de Maurel may be a rustic, but he is not illiterate, and I looked upon him from the first as a dangerous enemy." "He has influence with his men?" asked de Puisaye. "He had," she assented, "a great deal." "But what about now?"