said you would not disappoint me."

Detricand drew from his pocket a letter and handed it over, saying:
"This comes from the comte."

The old gentleman took the letter, nervously opened it, and read it
slowly, saying each sentence over twice as though to get the full
meaning.

"Ah," he exclaimed, "he is going back to France to fight for the King!"

Then he looked at Detricand sadly, benevolently. "Mon cher," said he,
"if I could but persuade you to abjure the wine-cup and follow his
example!"

Detricand drew himself up with a jerk. "You can persuade me, chevalier,"
said he. "This is my last bout. I had sworn to have it with--with a
soldier I knew, and I've kept my word. But it's the last, the very last
in my life, on the honour of--the Detricands. And I am going with the
Comte de Tournay to fight for the King."

The little chevalier's lips trembled, and taking the young man by the
collar of his coat, he stood tiptoed, and kissed him on both cheeks.

"Will you accept something from me?" asked M. de Mauprat, joining in his
friend's enthusiasm. He took from his pocket a timepiece he had worn
for fifty years. "It is a little gift to my France, which I shall see
no more," he added. "May no time be ill spent that it records for you,
monsieur."

Detricand laughed in his careless way, but the face, seamed with
dissipation, took on a new and better look, as with a hand-grasp of
gratitude he put the timepiece in his pocket.

"I'll do my best," he said simply. "I'll be with de la Rochejaquelein
and the army of the Vendee to-morrow night."

Then he shook hands with both little gentlemen and moved away towards
the Rue des Tres Pigeons. Presently some one touched his arm. He looked
round. It was Ranulph.

"I stood near," said Ranulph; "I chanced to hear what you said to them.
You've been a friend to me today--and these eleven years past. You knew
about my father, all the time."

Before replying Detricand glanced round to see that no one was
listening.

"Look you, monsieur, a man must keep some decencies in his life, or cut
his own throat. What a ruffian I'd be to do you or your father harm! I'm
silent, of course. Let your mind rest about me. But there's the baker
Carcaud--"

"The baker?" asked Ranulph dumfounded. "I thought he was tied to a rock
and left to drown, by Rullecour's orders."

"I had him set free after Rullecour had gone on to the town. He got away
to France."

Ranulph's anxiety deepened. "He might c