"Oh, Heaven forbid!" cried the Abbé. "Such a letter as that! Where should we all be if it were read by the government? And all know that letters passing through the post to the address of such as Monsieur Albert are read in passing--by the Prince President himself, as likely as not." Albert gave a short, derisive laugh, and shrugged his shoulders, which made his admiring mother throw back her head with a gesture, inviting the Abbé to contemplate, with satisfaction, the mother of so brave a man. "_Voilà_," she said, "but tell us, my son, what is in the letter?" "Not yet," was the reply. "It is to be read to all when they are assembled. In the mean time--" He did not finish the sentence in words, but by gesture conveyed that the missive, now folded and placed in his breast-pocket, was only to be obtained bespattered with his life's blood. And the Abbé wiped his clammy brow with some satisfaction that it should be thus removed from his own timorous custody. Albert de Chantonnay was looking expectantly at the door, for he had heard footsteps, and now he bowed gravely to a very old gentleman, a notary of the town, who entered the room with a deep obeisance to the Comtesse. Close on the notary's heels came others. Some were in riding costume, and came from a distance. One sprightly lady wore evening dress, only partially concealed by a cloak. She hurried in with a nod for Albert de Chantonnay, and a kiss for the Comtesse. Her presence had the immediate effect of imparting an air of practical common-sense energy to the assembly, which it had hitherto lacked. There was nothing of the old _régime_ in this lady, who seemed to over-ride etiquette, and cheerfully ignore the dramatic side of the proceedings. "Is it not wonderful?" she whispered aloud, after the manner of any modern lady at one of those public meetings in which they take so large a part with so small a result in these later days. "Is it not wonderful?" And her French, though pure enough, was full and round--the French of an English tongue. "I have had a long letter from Dormer telling me all about it. Oh--" And she broke off, silenced by the dark frown of Albert de Chantonnay, to which her attention had been forcibly directed by his mother. "I have been dining with Madame de Rathe," she went on, irrepressibly, changing the subject in obedience to Albert de Chantonnay's frown. "The Vicomtesse bids me make her excuses. She feared an indigestion, so will be absent to-night." "Ah!" returned the Comtesse de Chantonnay. "It is not that. I happen to know that the Vicomtesse de Rathe has the digestion of a schoolboy. It is because she has no confidence in Albert. But we shall see--we shall see. It is not for the nobility of Louis Philippe to--to have a poor digestion." And the Comtesse de Chantonnay made a gesture and a meaning grimace which would have been alarming enough had her hand and face been less dimpled with good nature.