“To the devil with such nonsense! She is capable of doing it as well as saying it Ah, there it is, I have been too good; I have been too indulgent to her; she abuses it!” cried the old gentleman, stamping his foot with anger. Then taking a milder tone, he said: “Let us see, Reine, my daughter, my dear daughter, be reasonable; just one dash of a gallop, and I am with Saint-Yves in time to drive away these wretches with blows of my whip, and I return.” Reine made a step toward the door. “But you may join me, Honorât; you are as unmoved as a worm.” “Ah, father, do you forget that just now you stigmatised as cowardice his firm and prudent conduct in this affair?” “He, Honorât, my son, a coward? I would cut anybody in the face who would dare say it If I said that, I was wrong,--it was anger that carried me away. Honorât, my son--” Raimond V. opened his arms to Honorât, who embraced him, and said: “Believe, me, sir, do not undertake this journey. My God! you will see these people only too soon.” “What do you mean by that?” “To-morrow morning, without doubt, they will be here,--not one house of the nobility will be exempt from this measure.” “They will be here to-morrow!” cried the baron, with an expression of joy difficult to portray. “Ah, the recorder will be here to-morrow, he who has condemned poor devils to the galleys for the crime of smuggling. Ah, he will be here to-morrow! As God lives, it fills my heart with joy. Laramée, do not have the horses saddled, no, no, only to-morrow at daybreak prepare twenty good poles from hazel-trees, because I hope we will break a good many; then arrange a seesaw above the moat, and--but I will tell you to-night when I go to bed. Some wine, Laramée, some wine; give me my father’s cup and Spanish wine, I must drink with solemnity to such a piece of news; some wine of Xeres, I tell you,--wine of Lamalgue to the devil! since the minions of the petty tyrant of Provence will be here to-morrow, and we will be able to lash them soundly with the straps that ought to be laid on Vitry.” Having said this, the baron sat down again in his armchair; each one took his place, to the great delight of the poor abbé, who, during this scene, had not dared to utter a word. The supper, interrupted by this incident, was finished with a certain constraint. Raimond V., preoccupied with the reception that he was preparing for the agents, stopped every few moments to whisper something in Laramée’s ear; it was easy to guess the subject of these secret conferences, by the air of profound satisfaction with which the old soldier received the instructions of his master. Like all soldiers, Laramée cherished an instinctive hatred of men of the law, and he did not dissimulate his joy at the thought of the reception awaiting the recorder and his scribe the next day. Reine and Honorât exchanged glances of distress; they knew the obstinate and irascible temper of the baron, his taste for rebellion, and aversion to Marshal of Vitry.