"I left my men in charge of young de Fleurot, my most able lieutenant. I only wanted to speak with Fernande--only to see her for five minutes. I was here--outside the gates at nine o'clock--I could have seen her and spoken with her and be back at my post long before now. Even so, there is no harm done. Our contingent was not due to start until midnight. I have arranged with de Fleurot--in case I was detained--that he shall start at the appointed hour, and I would pick up the company at the cross-roads less than a kilometre from here and not more than three from Domfront. But I should have been back at Mortain long before now," he reiterated testily, "only when I saw Fernande stealing out of the park like a pert wench going to meet her gallant, I lost my head and I followed her." "All the way to La Vieuville?" "All the way." "And you saw her?" "No." "Had she been to the chateau?" "No one could tell me. The chateau was shut up and dark. I hammered on the door. No one replied. I would have broken in the door, but it resisted my every onslaught." "Then what did you do?" "I lay in wait for some time--my pistol in my hand. If I had seen him, I would have shot him ... him and Fernande too." "How long did you wait?" "I don't know ... half an hour perhaps--perhaps more. No one came. The chateau was deserted. Somewhere in it, no doubt, Gaston de Maurel, that old reprobate, lay dying. But I realized that Fernande was not there, so I came away." "Well? And then?" "I came back here," he replied savagely. "I am here now to ask you where is Fernande?" "Yes, you are here, my son," rejoined Denise de Mortain harshly, "at the post of dishonour, while your father and kindred are fighting for France." "Mother!" But now at last she turned on him with all the fury of a tigress roused to wrath. She had interrogated him coolly, firmly, smothering the horror and the indignation which she felt. But the floodgates of her emotion would no longer be kept back; they broke into a torrent of unbridled vituperation. "Traitor! deserter!" she cried. "How dare you remain here another minute? How dare you whine and fret before me, while every moment of the night is fraught with danger for your King and his cause? How dare you run on the high roads after a wench, like a jealous, love-sick swain, while your King hath need of every ounce of energy, of courage which you possess. Out of my sight, craven deserter! and pray to God that He may grant you grace to atone for your treachery with your blood!" "Mother ..." he protested firmly, as, stung by her words as with a lash, he had jumped to his feet and made a desperate effort to pull himself together. "Not another word," she commanded. "When you have redeemed your cowardice by prodigies of valour, when you have held Domfront for your King in the face of overwhelming odds, you may come to me again ... but not before."