The President frowned, and taking his cue from the king, was about to rebuke the boy sharply, when one who had not before spoken, but whose voice in an instant produced silence among high and low, intervened. "The tale rings true!" the Cardinal said, in low, suave accents. "But there is no family of Bault in Perigord, is there?" "With His Majesty's permission, no!" replied a bluff, hearty voice; and therewith the elderly soldier who had come in with the king advanced a pace to the side of his master's chair. "I am of Perigord, and know, your Eminence," he continued. "More. Two months ago I saw this lad--I recognise him now--at the fair of Fécamp. He was differently dressed then, but he had the same tale, except that he did not mention Perigord." "S-someone has taught it him," said the king. "Your Majesty is doubtless right," the President answered obsequiously. Then to the boy he continued, "Speak, boy; who taught it you?" But Jehan only shook his head and looked puzzled. At last, being pressed, he said, "At Bault, in Perigord." "There is no such place!" M. de Bresly cried roundly. Father Bernard looked distressed. He began to repent that he had led the child to tell the tale; he began to fear that it might hurt instead of helping. Perhaps after all he had been too credulous. But again the Cardinal came to the rescue. "Is there any family in Perigord can boast of three marshals, M. de Bresly?" he asked, in his thin incisive tones. "None that I know of. Several that can boast of two." "The blood of Roland?" M. de Bresly shrugged his shoulders. "It is common to all of us," he said, smiling. The great Cardinal smiled, too--a flickering, quickly-passing smile. Then he leaned forward and fixed the boy with his fierce black eyes. "What was your father's name?" he said. Jehan shook his head, impotently, miserably. "Where did you live?" The same result. The king threw himself back and muttered, "It is no good." The President moved in his seat. Some in the galleries began to whisper. But the Cardinal raised his hand imperiously. "Can you read?" he said. "No," Jehan murmured. "Then your arms?" The Cardinal spoke rapidly now, and his face was growing hard. "They were over the gate, over the door, over the fireplace. Think--look back--reflect. What were they?" For a moment. Jehan stared at him in bewilderment, flinching under the gaze of those piercing eyes. Then on a sudden the boy's face grew crimson. He raised his hand eagerly. "_Or, on a mount vert!_" he cried impetuously--and stopped. But presently, in a different voice, he added slowly, "It was a tree--on a hill." With a swift look of triumph the Cardinal turned to M. de Bresly. "Now," he said, "that belongs to----" The soldier nodded almost sulkily. "It is Madame de Vidoche's," he said. "And her name was----" "Martinbault. Mademoiselle de Martinbault!"