ers.

It was not exactly a pleasant errand, to convey Monsieur and Madame de
Sainfoy's refusal of his offer to a man like the General. It could have
been done quite as easily by the post, thus sparing trouble and
annoyance to the faithful cousin who had borne so much. But there were
complications; and a careful talking over of these with Adelaide, after
Herve was gone, had led Urbain to suggest going himself. He had a double
reason for wishing to soften the effect of his cousin's rather short and
haughty letter. It must go, of course, whatever his own and Madame de
Sainfoy's disapproval; but there were things that diplomacy might do,
without, as it seemed, any serious consequences to recoil on the
diplomatists. Madame de Sainfoy might gain imperial favour, Monsieur de
la Mariniere might help her and save his foolish boy, and no one in the
family, except themselves, need know what they were doing.

It was not an uncommon thing for Urbain to drive over to Sonnay, though
he generally started much earlier. On this occasion he said nothing of
his real errand to his wife, only telling her when she mentioned
Helene's marriage that Herve continued in the same mind. Many things
wanted for the house and the farm had come conveniently to his memory.
He started with his groom at twelve o'clock, in the high, hooded
carriage, with a pair of strong horses, which made short work of the
rocky lanes about La Mariniere. The high road towards Sonnay was smooth
compared with these, running between belts of dark forest, and along it
Monsieur Urbain drove at a good rattling pace of twelve miles an hour.

Sonnay-le-Loir was a beautiful and picturesque town, once strongly
defended, both by walls and a deep river which flowed round below them.
There was a good deal left of the old ramparts; the gates still stood,
the narrow streets of tall old white houses, each with its court and
carriage entrance and shady garden behind, went climbing up the hill to
the large square where the Cathedral towered on one side, the town-hall
and public offices filled up another, the Prefecture a third, and an old
hotel, now used as military quarters, the fourth.

Though it was not market-day, the white cobbled square was cheerful
enough; a few stalls of fruit and vegetables, sheltered by coloured
umbrellas from the strong sunshine, were lodged about the broad steps of
the Cathedral; peasants and townspeople were clattering about in their
sabots, soldiers were be