ake one of the remount horses that are
not branded--I will look to that.'

'If the Count should be from home, am I to seek for him elsewhere, sir?'

'That will depend upon your own address; if you are satisfied that you
can defy detection. I leave all to yourself, Chevalier. It is a great
and a holy cause you serve, and no words of mine can add to what your
own heart will teach you. Only remember, that hours are like weeks, and
time is everything.'

Gerald kissed the hand that Monsieur extended to him; and lighting him
down the little stairs, saw him take his way across the park.

CHAPTER III. THE MISSION

The day had not yet dawned when Gerald, admirably disguised as a
Provencal peasant, arrived at the Avenue aux Abois. The night had been
hot and sultry, and many of the windows of the houses were left open;
but from none save one were any lights seen to gleam. This one was
brilliant with the glare of wax-lights; and the sounds of merriment from
within showed it was the scene of some festivity. Light muslin curtains
filled the spaces of the open casements, through which at moments the
shadowy traces of figures could be detected.

While Gerald stood watching, with some curiosity, this strange contrast
to the unbroken silence around, a rich deep voice caught his ear, and
seemed to awaken within him some singular memory. Where, and when, and
how he had heard it before, he knew not; but every accent and every tone
struck him as well known.

'No, no, Mirabeau,' broke in another; 'when men throw down their houses,
it is not to rebuild them with the old material.'

'I did not speak of throwing down,' interposed the same deep voice; 'I
suggested some safe and easy alteration. I would have the doors larger,
for easy access; the windows wider, for more light.'

'And more wood, generally, in the construction, for easy burning, I
hope,' chimed in a third.

'Make your best provisions for stability: destruction will always be a
simple task,' cried the deep voice. 'You talk of burning,' cried he,
in a louder tone; 'what do you mean to do when your fire goes out?
materials must fail you at last. What then? You will have heaped many
a good and useful thing upon that pile you will live to regret the loss
of. What will you do, besides, with those you have taught to dance round
these bonfires?'

'Langeac says it is an experiment we are trying,' replied another; 'and,
for my part, I am satisfied to accept it as such.'