“Monsieur le Vicomte,” said Javotte, recovering herself, “I was followed to the address you gave me by two men. Then, when I was returning with this letter, they attacked me and would have taken it from me but for this brave gentleman, who beat them off. He escorted me home. I was saying good-night to him here when the door shut to and you entered.” She took the letter from her pocket and handed it to him. Jean Dubarry’s manner instantly changed as he took the letter. He knew that Rochefort belonged to no party, and to attach this powerful firebrand to the Dubarry faction would be a stroke of very good policy. Also, he wished to know more about the affair. “Monsieur Rochefort,” said he, smiling, “you have done us a service. We are deeply beset by enemies, and if you wanted proof of that, the fact that our servant has been attacked to-night, on account of this letter, would supply you with it. In the name of the Comtesse, I thank you. And now, will you not come in? This cold passage is but the entrance to a house that is still warm enough, thank God, for the entertainment of our friends. And though the hour is late, it is of importance that I should have a word with you on the matter.” “Thank you,” said Rochefort, “I shall be glad also to have a moment’s talk with you.” He felt slightly disturbed in mind. If everything was as it appeared to be, then the man he had killed was not a common robber, but a creature of Choiseul’s; and, however vile this creature might have been, Choiseul would visit the man who had killed him with his vengeance, should he discover the fact. Truly, this was a nice imbroglio, and he was even deepening it now by accepting an invitation to enter the house of Choiseul’s most bitter enemy. But Rochefort was a man who, when in a difficulty, always went forward, depending on the strength of his own arm to cut his way through. If he was bound to be involved in politics, and Court intrigue, fate had ordained that he would have to fight against Choiseul, and if that event came about, it would be better to have the Dubarrys at his back than no one. _En avant_! was his motto, and, following the broad back of the Vicomte, and being followed, in turn, by little Javotte, he left the passage and entered the house of the Dubarrys. CHAPTER III A COUNCIL OF WAR The Vicomte led the way along a corridor with painted walls and a ceiling wherefrom impossibly fat cupids pelted one in gesture with painted roses. He opened a door, and with a courtly bow, ushered Rochefort into a small room exquisitely furnished, and lit by a swinging crystal lamp of seven points burning perfumed oil. This house of the Dubarrys had once belonged to Jean de Ségur, a forbear of General Philippe de Ségur, that ardent Royalist who, at the sight of Murat’s dragoons galloping through the gate of the Pont Tournant, forgot his grief at the destruction of the old _régime_, and became a soldier of Napoleon’s.