“Not unless there is a letter awaiting me here. But I know that there is not. No doubt I shall have one in a day or two. . . . And now, Father, it is getting late, and I must hear about you and events here.” The priest bent forward. “Gilbert, I must tell you first a very serious piece of news which concerns you personally, but not Chantemerle. I did not want to tell you immediately upon your arrival—nor before the others. There was a rising last week in the Lyonnais. Château-Foix, among other places, was attacked——” “And is now no longer in existence,” finished the Marquis coolly. “How did you know?” ejaculated his companion. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. “I did not know. I merely guessed. I assume from your tone that I am correct?” “The house was burnt to the ground. I am afraid that there is not a doubt of it. There were no lives lost; that is one thing to be thankful for.” The Marquis continued to be unmoved. “No, I am not in the least surprised. The whole district was in a ferment of revolutionary ardour when I was there last spring. I thought that this would happen sooner or later. As you know, I was never fond of the place, and the wreckers have relieved me of a few thousand crowns of income and an uncongenial responsibility. Let me be assured that no one has been burning anything here!” “That is hardly likely. There is not really much to tell you. It was on June 30th, four days after you left, that the Directory decreed the attendance of all non-jurors at Fontenay. We had warning of their intention the day before, and Madame, on hearing of it, bade me take up my residence here at once, in case of a search being made for me in the village. But there has been no search, and I have not felt obliged to debar myself from visiting my flock as usual, though I have not returned to the _presbytère_.” “I should think not, indeed!” commented the young man. “And, Father, for God’s sake be careful how you show yourself in the village. Are you saying Mass in the church?” “No—here, for the present. Madame allows the villagers to attend—as many, that is, as the chapel will accommodate.” Gilbert stared into the fire. “And what will be the next move of these scoundrels? If only we were not so helpless—if only we were organised in some way!” “Organised!” exclaimed M. des Graves in surprise. “Organised as what?” Gilbert made no immediate reply, but continued to sit, with his elbows on his knees, staring into the heart of the fire. “I met a remarkable person on my travels,” he said, without removing his gaze, “a man whom I never thought to see in the flesh, still less to like—the Marquis de la Rouërie.” “You met La Rouërie!” “Yes, near Laval. He was in hiding. He offered to help me to organise Vendée as he has organised Brittany.” “And what did you say?” asked his companion, with the deepest interest.