“Not that I am aware of,” returned the young man. “Indeed, the whole affair is a mystery to me. Gilbert must have been very persuasive.” Here, looking across the table, Louis found the priest’s eyes fixed upon him. “Were you aware of his powers in that direction, Father?” he asked mischievously. “Perhaps I am, my son. Go on with your story,” said the Curé, with the suspicion of a smile. Thus urged, Louis gave a vivid account of their exit from Paris, the Marquise hanging on his words with evident joy at having secured, if only for a time, a circumstantial narrative. The recital, full of colour and vivacity, came down to their arrival at the inn at Pézé-le-Robert, where it suddenly stopped. “Yes?” said Madame de Château-Foix, her eyes shining like a girl’s. “Oh, then,” said Louis carelessly, “we had an unfortunate little affair, which was the real cause of our delay in getting here. As usual it began in my carelessness—and ended in a knife. An inquisitive citizen picked up one of those handkerchiefs which you embroidered for me on my last birthday, my aunt, and grudged the poor druggist’s assistant his finery. If Gilbert had not dragged me out and carried me about forty miles to the nearest habitation——” “My poor boys!” ejaculated the Marquise, shuddering. “How far did you say it was?” “Louis is romancing,” said Château-Foix coldly. “The farm was about three-quarters of a mile away, and he went most of the way on his own feet.” “A farm!” said the priest. “Was it safe?” “I hope you got into a comfortable bed, my poor Louis,” observed the Marquise. “A hay bed, my aunt. No, the place would scarcely have been safe for suspected aristocrats if Gilbert had not again employed his powers of persuasion with the fair sex, and won us a shelter in the lady’s loft.” “Oh, it was a woman! But you did not tell us about any other woman?” exclaimed Madame de Château-Foix, with every appearance of a lively interest groping for light. The Vicomte’s pause at his slip was only momentary. “Quite true,” he returned in a tone of cheerful surprise. “I forgot to mention the chambermaid at Dreux, who was so much impressed by his _bel air_ that she gave us almost clean sheets.” The Marquise looked disappointed but satisfied, M. des Graves bit his lip, and Gilbert was not at all amused. “And did this woman look after you well, Louis?” “Almost too well, aunt. She hauled me down from the loft and imprisoned me in her own fastness, whence Gilbert, who might have been speeding back to you and safety, had a good deal of trouble in extricating me.” The momentary smiling glance at Château-Foix came back to the Marquise. “So you see, my dear aunt, that you owe nearly all your anxieties to your unworthy nephew.”