Not a word more was spoken then; but as soon as the groom had led the horse to the stables, M. De —— rapidly told the count that, during the storm, and as he was riding along, a man, who was half-concealed behind a very large tree, ordered him to throw down his purse. At that moment a flash of lightning enabled him to discover a portion of the robber’s person, and M. De —— rode at him; but the robber retreated a few paces, and then leveling his gun at the horseman, cried with a powerful voice, which it was impossible to mistake, “Pass on, or you are a dead man!” Another flash of lightning showed the whole of the robber’s figure: it was Mirabeau, whose voice had already betrayed him! The wayfarer, having no inclination to be shot, put spurs to his horse, and soon reached the château. The count enjoined strict silence, and begged of his friend to avoid displaying any change in his usual demeanor when in company with the other guests; he then ordered his valet to come again to him as soon as Mirabeau should return. Half an hour afterward Mirabeau arrived. He was wet to the skin, and hastened to his own room; he told the servant to inform the count that he could not join the company at the evening meal, and begged that his supper might be brought to his room; and he went to bed as soon as he had supped. All went on as usual with the party assembled below, excepting that the gentleman who had had so unpleasant an adventure on the road appeared more gay than usual. When his guests had all departed, the master of the house repaired alone to his brother-in-law’s apartment. He found him fast asleep, and was obliged to shake him rather violently before he could rouse him. “What’s the matter? Who’s there? What do you want with me?” cried Mirabeau, staring at his brother-in-law, whose eyes were flashing with rage and disgust. “What do I want? I want, to tell you that you are a wretch!” “A fine compliment, truly!” replied Mirabeau, with the greatest coolness. “It was scarcely worth while to awaken me only to abuse me: go away, and let me sleep.” “_Can_ you sleep after having committed so bad an action? Tell me—where did you pass the evening? Why did you not join us at the supper-table?” “I was wet through—tired—harassed: I had been overtaken by the storm. Are you satisfied now? Go, and let me get some sleep: do you want to keep me chattering all night?” “I insist upon an explanation of your strange conduct. You stopped Monsieur De —— on his way hither this evening: this is the second time you have attacked that gentleman, for he recognized you as the same man who robbed him a week ago. You have turned highwayman, then!” “Would it not have been all in good time to tell me this to-morrow morning?” said Mirabeau, with inimitable _sang-froid_. “Supposing that I _did_ stop your friend, what of that?” “That you are a wretch!”