“Where did you pick up that infamous lie? You forget, Jean Plessis, to whom you are talking. Where, I say, did you hear this falsehood?” “This is no place, monsieur, neither must Madame Coulancourt be incommoded by our controversy on this subject; I will attend you in another chamber.” “Let it be understood, Monsieur Plessis,” returned the Maire, making an effort to regain his composure, “that Madame Coulancourt and her daughter are under arrest, and from this moment I forbid all communication with any person from without. Sergeant Perrin and his men must be answerable to me for their safe guardianship, as they shall be escorted to Paris to-morrow.” “By whose orders, Monsieur Gramont,” inquired Jean Plessis, “is this harsh measure put in force?” “I do not see that I am bound to enlighten you, Monsieur Plessis,” said the Maire, with a sneer. “However, you will, I suppose, acknowledge this authority,” and he opened his pocket-book, and displayed the order of arrest, signed by Fouché. Jean Plessis looked at the already much dreaded signature of Fouché very calmly. “Ah!” said he, “I see, this is dated the 16th of June.” “Well,” said Bertram Gramont, impatiently; “what has that to do with the validity of the document?” “Nothing whatever, monsieur,” returned Jean Plessis; “if it had been executed after the twenty-first. But,” taking a very large memorandum book from his pocket, opening it, and selecting a document very similar to the one held by Monsieur Gramont, “here is an order, signed not only by Monsieur Fouché, but by the most powerful and influential of the directors of France—Monsieur Barras; it is as recent as the twenty-second, and if you will cast your eye over it you will perceive it cancels all previous documents, and especially directs the various authorities here, and on the road to Paris, to show particular attention to Madame Coulancourt and her daughter, Mademoiselle Arden.” Bertram Gramont fell back perfectly annihilated, whilst Mabel, kissing her mother’s cheek, exclaimed— “Did I not say, dear mother, that a beneficent Providence would yet shield us from the evil designs of our enemies!” Bertram Gramont bit his lip, and with a look of rage and vexation at Mabel, turned and left the room, saying to Jean Plessis— “I have not done with you yet, monsieur; follow me into another apartment.” “This way, then, Monsieur le Maire,” said the intendant, passing along the corridor, and throwing open the door of the small saloon into which our hero was first shown when he entered the Château Coulancourt. “I see through your designs, Monsieur Plessis,” cried Bertram Gramont, slamming the door after him as they entered the room; “you think you can elude justice, and purchase permission to become a traitor.” “Take care, Bertram Gramont,” said Jean Plessis sternly, “how you accuse Monsieur Barras of such a crime.”