"Confiscated lands will never be restored," she said firmly, "not even by King Louis. The process would be too dangerous; it would kindle a fresh revolution. Those of us whose lands have been sold by that execrable Revolutionary government will remain poor and dispossessed to the end of our days." Baudouin de Courson looked keenly at his sister, still not understanding her sudden new mood. "Does that mean," he asked, "does that mean that the project of marriage between our children is not to come to pass?" "No, no," Madame broke in hurriedly; "I did not mean that, of course. You know, dear, that I could not have meant that.... You misunderstood me ... or I, mayhap, expressed myself clumsily. Pessimism led me too far ... no wonder--eh, my dear Baudouin? The spectacle of our ruined home has grated harshly on my nerves. No, no! I did not mean that. King Louis,--may God guard him!--will richly reward those of us who have given up everything for his sake. There will be money compensation for you and money compensation for Laurent ... and, please God, the past splendours of Mortain will one day be revived ... but it will all take time ... years perhaps ... and, in the meanwhile, I think you should talk seriously to Fernande. She ought to be a little more circumspect, and not proclaim her affection for Laurent quite so openly as she has done hitherto." "Would it not be best, in that case," rejoined M. de Courson coldly, "if Fernande and I took up our abode elsewhere and left you in possession of Courson? We might go to Caen, perhaps, or to Brest.... We should still be in touch with you...." "Impossible, my good Baudouin," interposed Madame decisively. "You must remain here while our army is being organized; this place is most central--it shall be our headquarters. Already we have arranged that it shall be the meeting-place whenever any of our leaders wish to communicate with us. No, no, there can be no question of your going! Moreover...." "Yes?" he queried, seeing that she had paused, obviously hesitating whether to go on or not. "I don't see why I should not tell you of my project, my dear Baudouin," she said quietly. "I propose to take up my abode at La Frontenay." "La Frontenay? I don't understand...." "There is no doubt that old Gaston de Maurel is dying. Ronnay is his heir. La Vieuville will then become his home.... Why should not La Frontenay become mine? It was my husband's." "But ..." stammered the Comte, reluctant to put into words the thought that was uppermost in his mind.