"What the devil is the meaning of this, I should like to know?" he inquired. "Is the Citizen Hoche desirous of offering me a post under him? It is lost labour on his part; I shall not take it." "It is orders, neither more nor less," replied the sergeant briefly. "All I know is--yes, you had better tie him up--that you are not going to join the others to-day. Afterwards, perhaps--I don't know. At present I am to take you to a house in the town." And so, with his wrists lashed together behind his back--a posture which secretly caused him not a little pain--La Vireville set off in the midst of his escort. This could hardly mean release, still less escape. Besides, except that a natural revulsion had left him a little doubtful as to what he really did wish, he was not sure that his desire was towards release if he could have it. But why this house in the town, and who--or what--could be awaiting him there? In Auray streets, where he had twice fought, and which were full this morning of sunshine and bright air, and of peasants with baskets, leading cows or driving pigs (for it was market-day), La Vireville was looked at with curiosity and pity. Probably, he thought, recognising the fact, because he was a solitary prisoner in the middle of his guards. They were used to batches at a time now in Auray. . . . And, passing once again by the Halles, he met the glance, brimming with a beautiful compassion, of a young countrywoman in a wonderful wide coif, who held a child in her arms. Indifferent though he was to his own fate, Fortuné felt that look like a benediction, and he wished that he could have kissed her hand. All he could do was to smile at the child, who was waving a small delighted arm to the soldiers. Auray is a little town, and it was not long before the guard halted in front of a house taller than its elder neighbours, having a passionless female head in the Græco-Roman style and a frieze of acanthus leaves above the door. La Vireville particularly noticed them. In the large well-furnished room on the first floor, looking out on to the street, to which he was conducted, was a silver-haired old lady seated in an arm-chair, reading, whom he noticed with even more particularity. It was Mme. de Chaulnes. He was hardly astonished, in a sense. After all, it was ridiculous to suppose that his escort would have conducted him to anything agreeable. But he could not conceive what she wanted with him. On their entry Mme. de Chaulnes looked up, closing the book over her finger, for all the world like a woman suffering a trivial interruption which she also intends shall be brief. "You can remove your men, sergeant," she said calmly. "I have a moment or two's private business with this gentleman, and I do not doubt the security of your knots."