As he spake we drew up before a house in the rue St. Louis, and were ushered into an anteroom, where we were left under guard, while our conductor departed to make his report. I was not permitted to speak with my fellow-prisoner, and so went back to my wonderings. It was Margaret--that is, Mme. de St. Just--who had befriended Lucy on shipboard, and protected her since. What a marvellous happening, that these two women, of all others in the world, should have thus been thrown together! That she now knew of my relation towards Lucy I could not doubt; and though I had preferred it might have come about otherwise, I bitterly reflected that an estimate of my character was no longer of supreme importance to her, now she was a married woman. Though I had been doing my utmost all these years of exile to school myself to a frame of mind in which I might look upon her as unapproachable for me, now that I found an insurmountable barrier existed, not of my own raising, with the inconsistence of mankind, I straight rebelled against it. What a climax to every irony of fate! To find myself free, and she, whom I had so hopelessly loved, another's. Yet what did the priest mean when he said he had been trying to keep me from her? I looked across the room at his impassive face, and felt I would give much for five minutes alone with him. Then an explanation would be forthcoming in some shape. From this coil I was aroused by the entrance of an officer to summon us into the presence of the General, and for the first time I considered my personal situation. Not that I had anything to fear, for, in those days, war was a profession, and an officer was treated as a gentleman by his opponent once active hostilities ceased, or were even suspended; but the consequence of my capture would certainly mean for me the loss of any advantage I might otherwise have gained from our success. Now my name would figure in no despatches, unless as "missing," a bitter disappointment, when I had so slowly and painfully gained something of a position. But I had no time to reason it out before we had crossed the threshold of the General's room. He was a clear-featured, bright-eyed man of thirty-five or forty, visibly harassed with the hard fortune of the day, but he did not allow his preoccupation to affect his bearing towards us. "Reverend sir," he said, addressing the priest, "I take it for granted you are a non-combatant, but as it has fallen to your lot to be brought within our lines, you must perforce remain a prisoner. If you will satisfy me as to your name and position, I shall judge if I can grant you the less galling restrictions of parole." [Illustration: "I take it for granted you are a non-combatant."] The priest smiled. "I appreciate the reasonableness of the condition, your Excellency. My full name is Jean Marie Gaston de Caldegues, Vicomte de Trincardel, but for years I have borne none other than 'le pere Jean, missionary to the Indians.'"