He still hesitated, and even began to mutter another objection. But I had only mind for one thing, and giving way to me, he preceded me slowly to the top of the house; where under the tiles he had a little room with a mattress and a chair, two or three books and a crucifix. A small square dormer-window admitted the light--and something else; for as we entered a pigeon rose from the floor and flew out by it. He uttered an exclamation of annoyance, and explained that he fed them sometimes. "They are company," he said sadly. "And I have found little here." "Yet you came of your own accord," I retorted brutally. I was choking with anxiety, and it took that form. "To lose one more illusion," he answered. "For years--you know it, M. le Vicomte--I looked forward to reform, to liberty, to freedom. And I taught others to look forward also. Well, we gained these--you know it, and the first use the people made of their liberty was to attack religion. Then I came here, because I was told that here the defenders of the Church would make a stand; that here the Church was strong, religion respected, faith still vigorous. I came to gain a little hope from others' hope. And I find pretended miracles, I find imposture, I find lies and trickery and chicanery used on one side and the other. And violence everywhere." "Then in heaven's name, man, why did you not go home again?" I cried. "I was going a week ago," he answered. "And then I did not go. And----" "Never mind that now!" I cried harshly. "It is not that I want. I have seen Louis St. Alais, and I know that there is something amiss. He will not face me. He will not tell me where Madame is. He will have nothing to do with me. He looks at me as if I were a death's head! Now what is it? You know and I must know. Tell me." "_Mon Dieu!_" he answered. And he looked at me with tears in his eyes. Then, "This is what I feared," he said. "Feared? Feared what?" I cried. "That your heart was in it, M. le Vicomte." "In what? In what? Speak plainly, man." "Mademoiselle de St. Alais'--engagement," he said. I stood a moment staring at him. "Her engagement?" I whispered. "To whom?" "To M. Froment," he answered. CHAPTER XXI. RIVALS. "It is impossible!" I said slowly. "Froment! It is impossible!"