“Oh!” said the young Vendean, “my good Marie, if you are as kind as I think, you’ll do something for me! Go, run, fly, tell your mistress that Count Baudelot de Dairval, Colonel of Light Horse, requests permission to pay her his respects. Or, no; find my host, not his bride, and tell him that his prisoner is very dull, that the noise of the ball will prevent his sleeping, that the night will be long and cold, that it’s a charity to snatch an unhappy young man from the sad thoughts of his last night, that I beg him, in Heaven’s name, to let me attend his ball. Tell him he has my word of honor not to try to escape. Tell him all that, Marie; and tell him whatever else comes into your heart and mind. Speak loud enough for your mistress to hear and be interested; and, thanks to you, Marie, I’m sure he will yield. Then, child, if I am invited, send your master’s valet. Tell him to bring me clean linen and powder. There must be some powder still left in the castle. Tell him to bring me one of his master’s coats, and get them to lend me my sword just for the evening. I will not unsheath it. So, Marie, go, child!” And the prisoner hurried her off and held her back in a way to make one both laugh and cry. A few minutes later Captain Hamelin’s valet appeared in the dovecote. He was a good old fellow, faithful to powder and to all the old customs. Although a member of the municipal council, he was an honest man, devoted to Monsieur Robespierre only because he alone in all republican France had dared to continue powder, ruffles, and embroidered vest. He brought a complete suit, which Captain Hamelin had ordered when younger and a Marquis, to visit the court and see the King when there was a court and a King. This suit was very rich and handsome, the linen very white, the shoes very fine. Baudelot’s host had forgotten nothing, not even the perfumes and cosmetics of an old-time Marquis. Baudelot confided his head to the valet, who adorned it complaisantly, not without profound sighs of regret. Baudelot was young and handsome, but had not been groomed for some time. Therefore when he saw himself dressed, curled and fresh shaven, his eyes animated by a good meal and by the music in the distance, he could not help smiling with self-content and recalling his beautiful nights at the “bal masqué” and at the opera with the Count de Mirabeau. He lacked only his sword, which was given him at the door with a reminder of his promise. It was night when he crossed the garden to the ballroom. All the most beautiful republican ladies of the province were there. But you know women are not so revolutionary that they do not feel aristocratic sympathy for a young and handsome gentleman who is to be shot on the morrow.