"Nay, my dear Baudouin," rejoined Mme. la Marquise sharply, "'tis like a father to belittle his own child's wisdom. I for one am over-ready to listen to advice wherever it may come from. I feel so guilty about the whole affair, for I fear me that we have gravely compromised the interests of His Majesty by quarrelling hopelessly with my son. "I had made such firm resolutions," she added with a sigh, "to conciliate him, to make friends with him if possible. His help--or, failing that, his neutrality--would have been of such immense value to our cause. I had dreams of establishing myself at La Frontenay, of using the place as an arsenal--as headquarters for our leaders ... of suborning or winning over the workmen at the factory.... I am heart-broken at the thought that my own foolishness hath all in a moment destroyed my best laid schemes." "Nay, _ma tante_," here broke in the young girl, with an elfish toss of her dainty head, "your schemes have not yet gone agley, that I can see. My cousin Ronnay--he is my cousin, is he not?--has of a truth departed hence in high dudgeon--but surely he can be brought back?" "Never!" asserted M. de Courson emphatically. And Mme. la Marquise shook her head. "No one can gauge the obstinate temper of a de Maurel--and Ronnay is the living image of his father. It was a delicate business to get him to come here at all. I declare that I am at my wits' ends how to bring him back." For a moment or two Fernande de Courson was silent; a gentle glow suffused her cheeks, her eyes danced with mischief, her whole face was lit up with inward merriment. "Will you let me try?" she asked suddenly. "You, Fernande?" exclaimed Mme. la Marquise. "What in the world can you do in the matter?" "Quite a great deal, _ma tante_," replied Fernande with that demure little air, which sat so quaintly upon her laughter-loving face. "Ronnay de Maurel," here interposed M. de Courson, "is not bait for a feminine fisher. If you have thoughts of casting your nets in that direction, my child...." "I for one would protest," broke in Laurent hotly. "Protest against what?" queried the girl, and she turned wide, inquiring eyes on the young man, eyes in which injured innocence, unfettered mischief and provoking coquetry were alike expressed. "Against your sowing seeds of hope of ... of ..." stammered Laurent with a scowl; "against your exercising your arts on that lout, who no doubt is filled with self-conceit, and might imagine things which...." Fernande leaned back in her chair, and her rippling childlike laugh roused the echoes of the ancient walls around.