“I will undertake to win mademoiselle’s consent,” he said. “Permit me, however, to remark that your ideas on the matter are--to say the least--unconventional. But no matter, ’twill be a little romance. There is one thing, though, I would say, madame, and that is, I notice with surprise that you keep that fellow as steward still. I spoke to you before.” A faint flush rose on the old dame’s pale face and her eyes kindled. She was not yet accustomed to dictation. “The man is useful to me,” she said shortly. “Monsieur forgets that he is not yet one of my family.” De Baudri bit his lip, an ugly look in his blue eyes. “I beg madame’s pardon,” he said, “but she probably remembers the cause of my protest; a grave one,--I believe the rogue may be a concealed Camisard.” Madame de St. Cyr’s hands trembled, and she controlled herself with an effort. “I think you are mistaken, M. de Baudri,” she protested; “he was well recommended, and I have seen nothing to indicate--that he was other than he claimed to be.” “You can see that he is no steward by profession, though, madame,” retorted the officer, coolly, “and his presence may be dangerous at St. Cyr.” “He has done his duty so far, monsieur,” she mustered courage to reply, “and I have no pretext for his discharge.” De Baudri shrugged his shoulders. “Madame should not need a second warning,” he remarked, with much suavity; “perhaps ’twould be well for me to investigate his antecedents and thus relieve madame of farther embarrassments.” “I thank you, monsieur,” she said, with an effort to be calm, “I can see to the matter myself. I will refer it to Père Ambroise. If any one is anxious about our spiritual welfare, he should be.” “Doubtless, madame,” M. de Baudri replied pleasantly, “but Père Ambroise is notoriously easy-tempered. I should advise you to be careful. You cannot afford to harbor a heretic here; a word to M. de Bâville--” He broke off, shrugging his shoulders. Madame stirred uneasily in her chair. Every word that he had uttered had been a covert threat, and she knew well enough to what end it all tended. He loved Rosaline and he meant to have her. “_Mon Dieu!_” thought the old woman, “he would have the child even against her will! Can he be wicked enough to try to intimidate her,--to force her into a marriage?” She awoke from these reflections to find him making his adieux. “I have warned you, madame,” he said benignly. “Convey my devotion to mademoiselle--my regret that she is absent from home at this hour. I will soon present myself again; meanwhile, madame, rest assured of my faithful friendship.” He bowed profoundly, his hand again on his heart, and retired, leaving the poor old woman collapsed in her chair; nor did she breathe freely until she heard his horse’s hoofs on the road to Nîmes.