"'Tis futile to take on such tragic airs," he added irritably, "just because I chose to spend my time on the high roads rather than cool my heels in the ditches of Mortain. I have told you that there's no harm done--that de Fleurot is in charge--that I shall pick him up on the way to Domfront--that I shall still lead our contingent just as it was arranged. I tell you that there's nothing lost...." "Everything is lost, my son," she replied coldly; "even your honour." Then as he made no reply, but with a shrug of the shoulders quietly turned to go, she called out peremptorily: "Hark!" Instinctively he paused on the threshold. From far away, in the direction where lay the factories of La Frontenay, there came through the intermittent hush of the storm the loud clang of a bell, followed immediately by the shrill hooting of a siren. "The alarm bell and the sirens at the factories," said Denise de Mortain slowly. "Good God!" exclaimed Laurent, as, rooted to the spot, he remained standing for one short second, straining his ears to listen. "What can it mean?" "That the unforeseen has occurred," she rejoined harshly, "and that there are two traitors in our family, my son--you and Fernande." "No! no!" he cried, horrified to hear his mother put into words that which he himself had dared to think. "Fernande de Courson has betrayed her King in order to save her lover," continued the Marquise, as she pointed an accusing finger in the direction whence the hooting of sirens and the continuous clang of alarm bells rose above the confused sounds of the storm. "And whilst friends and kindred prepare to conquer or to die for their faith, Laurent de Mortain goes philandering after a petticoat!" But the sting of her last words had not the time to reach him. Already he had run to the door, tearing it open as he ran; the next moment his scurrying footsteps were heard echoing all through the silent chateau--along the vast corridors, down the monumental staircase and across the marble hall, until the clang of the great glazed doors proclaimed that he was out of the house. Then Madame leaned out of the window as far as she could. She could still hear Laurent running down the perron steps and at full speed along the gravelled drive. Once the lightning lit up the whole extent of the park, the trees, the paths, the flower-beds, and the tall iron gates in the distance; but she could not see Laurent. He was already far away. The sound of sirens and alarms had not ceased. Over there around Mortain men were making ready to fight or die for their King. One of the last efforts for restoring an effete Bourbon to his throne was about to be drowned in a sea of bloodshed. The unforeseen had happened--what it was the lonely watcher could not conjecture, but she fell on her knees beside the open window, and, burying her head in her hands, she moaned and prayed: "God, my God! grant that he may die fighting; do not punish one moment's folly by a lifelong disgrace."