Her acuteness surprised him. "I am afraid, mademoiselle," he said, "that you have a mind to exalt me into a hero of romance--whether I will or no." She bent over her work to hide her face. "A duke gave them to you, I suppose?" she said. "That is so," he replied sedately. "Did you save his life?" "I did not." "I have heard," she returned, looking up thoughtfully, "that at Coutras a gentleman on the other side strove hard to save the Duke of Joyeuse's life, and did not desist until he was struck down by his own men." "He looked to make his account by him, no doubt," the Lieutenant answered coldly. "Perhaps," with a scarcely perceptible bitterness, "the Duke, had he lived, would have given him--a pair of pistols!" "That were a small return," she said indignantly, "for such a service!" He shrugged his shoulders. And to change the subject-- "What are the grey ruins," he asked, "on the edge of the wood?" "They are part of the old Abbey," she answered without looking up, "afterwards removed to Vlaye, of which my sister is Abbess. There was a time, I believe, when the convent stood so close to the house that it was well-nigh one with it. There was some disorder, I believe, and the Diocesan obtained leave to have it moved, and it was planted on lands that belonged to us at that time." "Near Vlaye?" "Within half a league of it." "Your sister, then, is acquainted with the Captain of Vlaye?" She did not look up. "Yes," she said. "But you and your brothers?" "We know him and hate him--only less than we fear him!" She regretted her vehemence the moment she had spoken. But he merely nodded. "So do the Crocans, I fancy," he said. "It is rumoured that he is preparing something against them." "You know that?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Without being omniscient," he answered smiling. "I heard it in Barbesieux. It was that, perhaps," he continued shrewdly, "which you wished to tell your brother yesterday." On that she was near confessing all to him and telling him, in spite of her resolutions, where on the next day he could find her brother. But she clung to her decision, and a minute later he rose and moved away in the direction of the house. When they met at table the mystery of the Vicomte's sudden impulse to hospitality, which was something of a puzzle to her, began to clear. It had its origin in nothing more substantial than his vanity; which was tickled by the opportunity of talking to a man who, with some pretensions to gentility, could be patronised. A little, too, he thought of the figure he had made the night before. It was possible that the stranger had been unfavourably impressed. That impression the Vicomte thought he must remove, and to that end he laboured, after his manner, to be courteous to his guest. But as his talk consisted, and had long consisted, of little but sneers and gibes at the companions of his fallen fortunes, his civility found its only vent in this direction.