“You can keep that money without any scruple,” said the young man, touching the arm which the lady had put behind her. “Here is a letter for you which I have just found among mine which were waiting for me at La Vivetiere; it is from your mother.” Then, looking at the Chouans who were disappearing into the woods, and at the turgotine which was now on its way to the valley of Couesnon, he added: “After all my haste I see I am too late. God grant I am deceived in my suspicions!” “It was my poor mother’s money!” cried the lady, after opening her letter, the first lines of which drew forth her exclamation. A smothered laugh came from the woods, and the young man himself could not help smiling as he saw the lady holding in her hand the bag containing her share in the pillage of her own money. She herself began to laugh. “Well, well, marquis, God be praised! this time, at least, you can’t blame me,” she said, smiling. “Levity in everything! even your remorse!” said the young man. She colored and looked at the marquis with so genuine a contrition that he was softened. The abbe politely returned to her, with an equivocal manner, the sum he had received; then he followed the young leader who took the by-way through which he had come. Before following them the lady made a sign to Marche-a-Terre, who came to her. “Advance towards Mortagne,” she said to him in a low voice. “I know that the Blues are constantly sending large sums of money in coin to Alencon to pay for their supplies of war. If I allow you and your comrades to keep what you captured to-day it is only on condition that you repay it later. But be careful that the Gars knows nothing of the object of the expedition; he would certainly oppose it; in case of ill-luck, I will pacify him.” “Madame,” said the marquis, after she had rejoined him and had mounted his horse _en croupe_, giving her own to the abbe, “my friends in Paris write me to be very careful of what we do; the Republic, they say, is preparing to fight us with spies and treachery.” “It wouldn’t be a bad plan,” she replied; “they have clever ideas, those fellows. I could take part in that sort of war and find foes.” “I don’t doubt it!” cried the marquis. “Pichegru advises me to be cautious and watchful in my friendships and relations of every kind. The Republic does me the honor to think me more dangerous than all the Vendeans put together, and counts on certain of my weaknesses to lay hands upon me.” “Surely you will not distrust me?” she said, striking his heart with the hand by which she held to him. “Are you a traitor, madame?” he said, bending towards her his forehead, which she kissed. “In that case,” said the abbe, referring to the news, “Fouche’s police will be more dangerous for us than their battalions of recruits and counter-Chouans.” “Yes, true enough, father,” replied the marquis.