M. de Malmy interrogated his companions with his eyes; and as he saw the same expression in all theirs, “Messieurs,” said he, “I regret that, in the name of my friend and myself, I must refuse the great honor that you offer us. I regret, also, that we cannot pledge our word not to interrupt the _fête_, as we are not sufficient philosophers to avoid breaking our promise; so—as we have no further business to detain us in town—we ask your permission to make our most respectful adieu, and to go and seek our pleasure elsewhere.” “As you wish, M. le Viscount,” said M. Drouet. “You are free to go.” Then, assuming the tone of command which sat so well on him, he said, “Allow these gentlemen to pass, and preserve complete silence; the one who passes a remark, will have to answer for it to me.” Not a sound could be heard. In the midst of this oppressive silence, the young nobles remounted their horses, and returned by the way that they had arrived. No word was spoken, no movement made; but the people followed the little party with their eyes until they finally disappeared from view on turning into the road leading to Clermont. Then a voice was heard, calm, but commanding in its tones. It was Drouet’s. “Lieutenant Bertrand,” said he, “place sentinels at the gates and see that the young nobles do not re-enter the town, during the continuance of the _fête_.” Then, turning to the crowd, “Am I not right, my friends?” said he. “Vive M. Drouet! Vive la nation!” cried the people, with one voice. A few cries of “Down with the nobles!” were heard, but they had no response. In fact, Drouet turned to whence those cries proceeded, and made a gesture of disapprobation. The _fête_ then continued as happily as if nothing had happened. CHAPTER X. TOUCHING MADEMOISELLE SOPHIE. I have said how much my encounter with De Malmy seemed to affect my companion, but that might have been accounted for in three ways. First, her fear for herself; second, her fear for me; and lastly, perhaps, her fear for my adversary. I had not forgotten what Father Gerbaut had said with regard to his daughter’s looking higher than her position warranted, and to the attention which she drew from the young gentlemen who put up at the “Bras d’Or,” some of whom were, no doubt, those with whom we had been in contest. I had naturally followed, with my eyes, the little cavalcade, until it finally disappeared. On withdrawing my looks from it, I perceived that Sophie was half fainting. I offered her my arm, which she took, trembling at the same time all over. “Oh, M. Réné,” said she, “I was so frightened! How glad I am that it ended as it did!” For whom was she frightened? and for whose sake was she so glad that all was over? Was it for our sakes, or for that of the young lords? I did not like to ask her.