"What rot! They're Frenchmen--dragoons. You don't know your own countrymen when you see them! Did you approach them?" "No." "Then what in the name of common sense sent you flying down here to scare us like that? You've got no business spreading panic broadcast. If you don't turn around and scamper home, the way you came, I'll have you arrested. _Allez!_" My nerves had stood the strain as long as possible. This false alarm had roused my anger and in a jiffy I could see how thousands of people had been deceived, and were now erring homeless along the roads of France! "You can do what you like," I said, turning to the others, "but I've had enough of this for one day--I'm going to bed. Good-night, gentlemen." "The _chatelaine_ is going to bed, the _chatelaine_ is going to bed!" "Let all go to bed," and similar phrases were echoed among the groups and presently we all separated, after many cordial _a demain_. The clock in the village church was striking midnight when I finally retired, after calling my greyhounds and Betsy into my room, and assuring myself that they all had on their collars, and that their leashes were hanging on my bed post. Nini, the little traitor, had evidently told Yvonne of my preparations for departure, and the two girls, whose beds were in the next room to mine, had been unable to close their eyes, for as I blew out my lamp, I could hear their childish voices repeating the rosary: "Hail Mary full of Grace--the Lord is with Thee..." * * * * * I may have slept an hour. Then I can dimly remember hearing a wild yelp from my dogs, and when I found myself in the middle of my room rubbing my eyes, Yvonne was calling, "Madame! Madame!" in terrified tones. My pets were mad with excitement, and the sound of the farm bell was ringing in my ears! "Silence!" I yelled. Everything but the bell ceased. Heedless of my attire, I rushed to a back window and repeated my command. The bell stopped. "Who are you that you dare wake us like that!" I scolded. A boy between eighteen and nineteen let go the rope and stepped beneath the window. I could see his blond hair in the moonlight. "Are you Madame Huard?" "Yes." "I've come with a message from your husband." I grew cold as ice. Good God, what had happened? V In a bound I was down stairs and had opened the front door. "Is H. wounded?" I gasped. "No, Madame." I breathed again. "Where was he when you saw him?" "On the road between Villers-Cotterets and La Ferte Milon." "What's your message?" The boy put his hand to his breast pocket and drew forth a slip of paper. The full moon shining on the white facade of the chateau threw such a brilliant reflection that I recognized a sheet from a sketch book, and could distinguish the following words scribbled in pencil: "Give bearer fifty francs, then in the name of the love you bear me, evacuate now; go south, not Paris." The last words were underscored three or four times.