The door opened as she uttered the words, and Madame Plessis and Julia entered the room. They also had learned the news from Rose; for Julia, kissing her friend kindly, wished her joy of the happy intelligence. “But now, dear Mabel, put on a grave, or rather, a careless face; for Sergeant Perrin is waiting for you both in the green-room.” Mabel gave a slight shudder; but, looking up with a smile, said— “I am ready; I feel no fear when with my good brother Philip;” and putting her arm within Lieutenant Thornton’s, they left the room, and proceeded to a chamber where Sergeant François Perrin awaited them, seated at a table, on which stood a half-emptied decanter of Cognac and some dried fruit and cakes; for Julia Plessis knew the worthy gendarme’s love for “une petite verrée.” Sergeant Perrin rose. He was not at all the worse for the refreshment he had partaken of at Dame Moret’s, nor the ample addition he had just imbibed; but his cheeks, and especially that interesting feature, his nose, showed a great increase of colour. “Well, sergeant,” said Lieutenant Thornton, “you are come, I hear, to pay us the usual visit, and inspect our papers. All right; there is nothing like regularity, and knowing who you have in your district in these times.” “Oui, monsieur, oui. You have a reasonable idea of our duty—not always a very pleasant one; but mademoiselle here,” turning to Julia, “always makes the château a pleasant place to visit.” As he spoke, he placed his book on the table before him, and then very politely requested Monsieur de Tourville to let him have a look at his papers. Sergeant Perrin read the paper presented, compared it with some remarks in his book; and, with a bow returned it, saying— “Quite correct, monsieur; but, if you please, I must just have a look at your man, Pierre Bompart—a mere form, but it’s my duty, and Monsieur le Maire requires an exact performance of my official duties.” “Certainly,” said Lieutenant Thornton, “you shall see him, poor fellow. He is, and has been for years, deaf and dumb; but as fine and faithful a fellow as ever lived. I am so accustomed to his sighs and ways, that I scarcely remark his being dumb.” “Eh, mon Dieu!” said the sergeant, referring to his book, “it does not say a word about Pierre Bompart’s deafness, or his being dumb either.” “Nevertheless the poor fellow has to bear both severe afflictions,” said Lieutenant Thornton; “but he is very cheerful, and looks well and hearty.” The sergeant’s book having been signed both by Mabel and our hero, as Marie and Philip de Tourville, the ladies retired, and in a few minutes Bill Saunders walked into the room, gazing at Sergeant Perrin with a look of stolid indifference. “Ha, mon Dieu! a fine fellow,” said the gendarme; “what a misfortune!” He then looked at his book and read out: “Pierre Bompart, aged thirty, native of Picardy. Tell him, monsieur, to write his name here,” continued the sergeant, putting the book before our hero.