t matter, after all? You live under the Empire, you
obey the laws as much as they do. Why should any of us spoil society by
waving our private opinions. It is not philosophical, really it is not."

"I did not suppose it was," she said. "I leave philosophy to you, my
dear friend."

She shrugged her shoulders and looked at Angelot, who was sitting in
silence, watching his father with the rather puzzled and qualified
admiration that he usually felt for him. This admiration was not unmixed
with fear, for Urbain, so sweet and so clever, could be very stern; it
was an iron will that had carried him through the past twenty years. Or
rather, perhaps, a will of the finest steel, a character that had a
marvellous faculty for bending without being broken.

"And you--" said Monsieur Urbain to his son--"you had a long day's sport
with the uncle. Did you get a good bag?"

Angelot told him. "But that was only by myself till breakfast time," he
said. "Since then I have been helping my uncle in other ways. I am
afraid you wanted me, monsieur, but it was an important matter, and I
could not leave him."

"Ah! Well, the other was not a very important matter--at least, I found
another messenger who did as well. It was to ride to Sonnay, to tell the
_coiffeur_ there to come to Lancilly early to-morrow. Madame de
Sainfoy's favourite maid was ill, and stayed behind in Paris. No one
else can dress her hair. It was she herself who remembered the old
hairdresser at Sonnay, a true artist of the old kind. I had a strong
impression that he--well, that he died unfortunately in those unhappy
days--you understand--but she thought he had even then a son growing up
to succeed him, and it seemed worth while to send to enquire."

Angelot smiled; his mother frowned. "I am glad you were not here!" she
murmured under her breath.

Later on they were sitting in the curious, gloomy old room which did
duty for salon and library at La Mariniere. Nothing here of the simple,
cheerful, though old-time grace of Les Chouettes. Louis Quatorze chairs,
with old worked seats, stood in a solemn row on the smooth stone floor;
the walls were hung with ancient tapestry, utterly out of date and out
of fashion now. A large bookcase rose from the floor to the dark painted
beams of the ceiling, at one end of the room. It contained many books
which Madame de la Mariniere would gladly have burnt on the broad
hearth, under her beautiful white stone chimney-piece--itself out of