“True, madame, so it is,” returned Bertram Gramont; “I perfectly agree with you. You came, madame, to this château with a Mademoiselle de Tourville; her brother had been residing here before your arrival; indeed, I met that gentleman myself. It has reached the ears of Monsieur Fouché, the Minister of Police, that this Mademoiselle de Tourville is your own daughter, and that the person who represented her brother is an English naval officer.” Monsieur le Maire looked up into madame’s countenance, but though pale, there was no alteration in its expression. “Well, Monsieur Gramont,” said Madame Coulancourt, “what is the consequence of this discovery of yours or Monsieur Fouché’s?” “It was my discovery, madame,” said Monsieur Gramont, a little roused; “it was my bounden duty to have made it. However, as you request to know what may be the consequences, I must inform you that I have received an official order to arrest you and your daughter, and to send you both under escort to Paris, to answer to the charge of harbouring the enemies of the Republic in your château, knowing them to be such. These, madame, are my instructions,” taking, as he spoke, from his pocket-book a parchment, with a portentous looking seal on it, and the signature of Fouché, the future Duke of Oranto, affixed to it. “I do not mean to doubt or dispute your instructions, Monsieur Gramont,” replied Madame Coulancourt, with but a slight agitation of manner, “and will reserve anything I may have to say till confronted with my accusers.” Rather disappointed in the degree of emotion betrayed by Mabel’s mother, Bertram Gramont resolved to inflict a further blow on his intended victim. “Besides this charge against you, Madame Coulancourt, which seems greatly increased by the events of last night, which will exasperate the Government beyond measure, I find that a young man calling himself Louis Lebeau has been secreted in this château for several days—is not this the case, madame?” “I deny nothing, monsieur,” said Madame Coulancourt, calmly and coldly. “Pray let me know the extent of the accusations against me, and what it is your pleasure to do.” “Madame, you mistake my motives altogether,” returned the gentleman, with a flushed cheek, for he was getting heated, seeing the coolness of Madame Coulancourt. “It is not my pleasure to injure or disturb you or your family—if possible, to avoid it. I wish to show you your situation, and then propose a remedy. Therefore, with respect to the pretended Louis Lebeau, I am aware that he is your son, Julian Arden.” Madame Coulancourt, at these words, felt a pang shoot through her heart. She had no idea that any one could have betrayed that secret. Monsieur Gramont exulted; he plainly perceived he had now laid his hand on a chord that vibrated to the touch. He perceived she felt no fear for herself and Mabel, but she dreaded, and with reason, her son’s falling into the power of Fouché.