"My dear curé," M. de Dampierre said to him, "excuse me, but I really cannot refrain from asking you what there is in my cousin's face which attracts your gaze to it." "Because, Monsieur le Marquis," said the curé, "because Madame, your cousin ... Oh! but it is amazing! Yet it is impossible! for, in fact ..." The rest of the good curé's sentence was lost in a confused and unintelligible murmur. "Monsieur," Madame said in her turn, addressing the worthy curé, "allow me to associate myself with my cousin in asking what is the matter." "It is like," replied the curé, "like a leaf out of a vaudeville of Scribe, or one of Alexandre Duval's comedies; your Royal Highness resembles the cousin of M. le Marquis like ... No, I am wrong; M. le Marquis's cousin resembles Your Royal Highness. That is not what I mean--Oh! but I could swear...." The duchesse lapsed into fits of laughter. But, at this moment, the dinner bell rang. M. de Dampierre, who saw what delight the good curé's surprise caused the duchesse, placed him opposite to her. The result was that, instead of dining, the curé never ceased looking at Madame, and repeating-- "Oh! but it is incredible! in truth I could have sworn it ... but yet it is impossible!" Rash and inconsequent as a child, Madame spent nine days at the château, and no one except the curé had any notion of questioning her identity as to name and cousinship. On the second day, a messenger set off for la Vendée with three notes. In the first, the duchesse asked a man who was in her confidence to find her an undiscoverable hiding-place. The second was addressed to one of the principal Vendéen leaders, and was couched in these terms:-- "In spite of the check which we have just met, I am far from looking upon my cause as lost: I have infinite confidence in its justice. My intention, therefore, is to go on pleading unceasingly, and I beg my advocates to hold themselves in readiness to plead ... on the first day." The third note was addressed to M. Guibourg, and was specially remarkable for its laconicism. This is it. "You will be told where I am; come, without a moment's loss of time. Not a word to a single soul!" Thirty hours later, M. Guibourg was with the princess. Madame's first words were-- "Where is M. le maréchal de Bourmont?" No one knew, M. Guibourg knew no more than the rest. The maréchal was not at Nantes, and they did not know either the route he had taken, or the retreat in which he was hidden. Nothing could be done without M. de Bourmont, who was the soul of the enterprise; he was the only person who, by the influence of his name, could make la Vendée rise, and, in virtue of his office of maréchal de France, exact the obedience of officers of all ranks. Madame had not heard a word of M. de Bourmont since the day she had parted from him.