“So the hero has gone back to his camp with his tail between his legs?” asked M. de Périgny amiably. “I only regret that Guadet’s vote of censure on him for leaving it was lost.” “Yes; he went back this morning,” answered D’Aubeville gravely. “His life would probably not have been safe in Paris a day longer—so much has his coming excited and alarmed the Jacobins and Orleanists.” “Then we shall see him burnt in effigy yet,” remarked De Périgny with satisfaction. “Ma foi, that would be something to live for!” exclaimed Louis de Chantemerle. “We will all go and dance round the pile.” “Too late, Messieurs,” interposed a fourth young man, stopping as he passed. “I have just come through the Palais-Royal, and there was M. Marie-Jean-Paul-Roch-Yves-Gilbert du Mottier blazing away merrily in the middle of the garden.” “I suspect your cousin does not share your views on bonfires, Saint-Ermay,” put in D’Aubeville quietly. “Look at old Du Mesnou’s long face; M. de Château-Foix is probably telling him that he considers Lafayette the one man who could have saved us.” “My cousin,” said the Vicomte ruefully, “has the misfortune to possess the same Christian name as General Morpheus—a fact of which you have just reminded me, M. de Monroux. Perhaps that accounts for it.” “Honneur à Lafayette, Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,” hummed the Comte de Périgny, and continued: “Sa tête est toujours nette Car il ne pense à rien; Aussi dort-il fort bien.” Louis knitted his brows. “I have never been able to arrive at a clear comprehension of my cousin’s creed,” he said. “I know that it leads him to the erection of model pig-styes for his tenantry, and all that sort of thing; but disobey his orders, and see what happens! The pig-styes have not altered a jot of his authority down there, and as for his politics, I have my suspicions that his views are changing. A few days in Paris will change them still more. And after all,” he concluded lightly, “these things are freaks; one has generally to put up with something of the kind in one’s relations.” “One has,” assented D’Aubeville. “Sometimes one has to put up with them in oneself.” “I had a great-aunt,” observed the Comte de Périgny sympathetically, “who always wanted to be kind to parrots. She thought they were unhappy in cages, and bought up all she could find, and had them loose in her house—one of those old houses in the Marais. It was as much as one’s life was worth to go in. But she meant well, you know; and I expect it is much the same with Monsieur le Marquis. Only, of course, people who do not understand take these things seriously, and you cannot be surprised if they class your cousin with the La Rochefoucauld and the rest of that crew.”