"Quite so--but large enough to harbour every rebel who chooses to hatch a plot against the safety of the Empire. The Mortains and Coursons will herd together there: Joseph de Puisaye, Francois Prigent and D'Ache will use it as their headquarters. From there their bands of brigands will be let loose upon both departments--highway robbery, intimidation, pillage and arson--those Chouans stick at nothing nowadays. England no longer supplies them with money for their so-called Royalist cause, and they must get money somehow. You remember their criminal outrage upon old M. de Ris, and their theft in his chateau of money, valuables and jewellery. You remember the murder of Andrein, the Constitutional Bishop of Quimper, and the abduction of the Bishop of Vannes--all for purposes of robbery.... Well, in my opinion, those exploits will sink into insignificance beside the ones which will be invented and organized in Courson under the presidency of Mme. la Marquise and her precious son and brother." M. Dubois, prefet of police, had, while he spoke, worked himself up into a passion of fury. He gesticulated wildly with both arms, shrugged his wide shoulders, and banged his fist from time to time upon the desk in front of him, so that the inkstand and the papers rattled unceasingly and M. le Ministre's nerves were irritated beyond endurance. Now M. Dubois had perforce to pause for want of breath. He drew his large coloured handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead, which was streaming. "You exaggerate, my good M. Dubois," said Fouche soothingly. "You have an excellent colleague at Caen in the person of M. Vincent...." "Bah!" ejaculated Dubois contemptuously. "He is hand in glove with the Royalists." "And there's M. Caffarello, the prefet...." Again an expressive shrug of the shoulders from M. Dubois, who apparently had not much faith in the capabilities of his subordinates. "And in Ronnay de Maurel you will have a valuable adjunct," added the Minister, "unless...." He paused, then continued with seeming irrelevance: "Is Fernande de Courson pretty?" "She has a reputation for beauty," replied Dubois. "Why do you ask?" "Nothing ... nothing ... a passing thought ... a dart shot at random.... You will have to keep your eyes very wide open, my good M. Dubois." "You may trust me to do that, M. le Ministre," rejoined Dubois, with a leer of comprehension; there was no subtlety about the suggestion, and he had understood it well enough this time. "There's not much of the lady-killer about Ronnay de Maurel," he added, laughing. "Perhaps not," rejoined Fouche dryly. "And he may rejoin the army, after all." "No. He cannot do that. The Emperor won't let him. He is far too useful in Normandy just now to be mere food for Prussian cannon." There was a pause. The prefet of police was tacitly dismissed. M. le Ministre drew some papers close to him, and his delicate, blue-veined hand toyed with the pen.