Juliette reflected for a moment, but she did not consult, even by a glance, Marie; who, in truth, appeared to expect no such confidences, but awaited the decision with a grim and grudging servitude which was as deeply pressed in upon her soul as was the habit of command in the soul of a de Gemosac. “Yes,” said Juliette, at length, “that will be best. It is, of course, important that my father should reach Bordeaux as soon as possible.” “He will be there at midday to-morrow, if you will come with me now,” answered Loo, and his gay eyes said “Come!” as clearly as his lips, though Juliette could not, of course, be expected to read such signals. The affair was soon settled, and Jean ordered to put the horse into the high, old-fashioned carriage still in use at the chateau. For Juliette de Gemosac seemed to be an illustration of the fact, known to many much-tried parents, that one is never too young to know one's mind. “There is a thunder-storm coming from the sea,” was Jean's only comment. There was some delay in starting; for Marie had to change her own clothes as well as pack her young mistress's simple trunks. But the time did not hang heavily on the hands of the two waiting in the little drawing-room, and Marie turned an uneasy glance toward the open door more than once at the sound of their laughter. Barebone was riding a horse hired in the village of Mortagne, and quitted the chateau first, on foot, saying that the carriage must necessarily travel quicker than he, as his horse was tired. The night was dark, and darkest to the west, where lightning danced in and out among heavy clouds over the sea. As in all lands that have been torn hither and thither by long wars, the peasants of Guienne learnt, long ago, the wisdom of dwelling together in closely built villages, making a long journey to their fields or vineyards every day. In times past, Gemosac had been a walled town, dominated, as usual, by the almost impregnable castle. Barebone rode on, alone, through the deserted vineyards, of which the scent, like that of a vinery in colder lands, was heavy and damp. The road runs straight, from point to point, and there was no chance of missing the way or losing his companions. He was more concerned with watching the clouds, which were rising in dark towers against the western sky. He had noted that others were watching them, also, standing at their doors in every street. It was the period of thunder and hailstorms--the deadly foe of the vine. At length Barebone pulled up and waited; for he could hear the sound of wheels behind him, and noted that it was not increasing in loudness. “Can you not go faster?” he shouted to Jean, when, at length, the carriage approached.