"Pardon, Monsieur le Curé!" he said, dropped the bundle he was carrying at the Curé's feet, and sped away at his wooden leg's best pace after the man. "_Hé_, police!" he said, as he came up with him, "what are you spying about here? Looking after the Emperor's enemies?" "You are not far wrong," said Simon. "And you--what are you doing here, soldier?" "My fighting days are done. I look out for amusement now. Did you see some people just now, going down through the wood? A young gentleman you want--who gave you the slip--was he there?" "I saw and heard enough to interest me," Simon answered drily. "It is time to finish off this business. I can't quite see what is going on, but I shall find out at the château. I have been following that young man all night, but I shall catch him up now." "I might help you with a little information," Martin said. The police agent looked at him suspiciously. "Tell me no lies," he said, "or"--he pointed to his carbine. "Oh, if that is your game--" Martin said. His heavy-headed stick swung in the air. "Crack!" it came down on the side of Simon's head and laid him flat on the turf. Martin stood and looked at him. "Now the saints grant I have not killed him," he said piously, "though I think he might very well be spared. But he won't go and catch Monsieur Angelot just at present." He left Simon lying there, and went quietly back to join the Curé. CHAPTER XXVI HOW ANGELOT KEPT HIS TRYST For Hélène, the next wonder in that autumn night's dream was the arrival at Les Chouettes, the mysterious house which bore the character of a den of Chouans, but the thought of which had always pleased her, as the home of Angelot's most attractive uncle. Angelot hurried her through the lanes, almost in silence. At last he stopped under a tall poplar, which gleamed grey in the starlight among the other lower trees. It was close to the spot where, coming from Les Chouettes in the evening, he had been irresistibly drawn by the lights of Lancilly. Here he took Hélène in his arms and kissed her for the first time since the Curé had joined their hands. "Mine!" he said. "My love, Hélène! you are not unhappy, you are not afraid, my own?" "I am with you," the girl said, very low. "Ah! if only--anyhow, I am the happiest man in the world. Come, dearest!" Hélène wondered at him a little. He was changed, somehow, her gay, talkative, light-hearted, single-minded Angelot. He had become grave. She longed to ask him many things--how had he escaped or been released from prison?--was it his father's doing?--would his father and mother be displeased at his marriage?--but in spite of the rapture of knowing that they belonged to each other, she felt strangely shy of him. In that silent, hurried walk she dimly realised that her boy friend and lover had grown suddenly into a man. There was keen anxiety as well as joy in the quick, passionate embrace he allowed himself before bringing her to his uncle's hands.