nning himself
into greater danger than he knew, in the satisfaction of his gentle
instincts, when he glanced up into the bold, angry, eager face beside
him, and said with uncompromising clearness: "Do not deceive yourself,
monsieur. I shall not write to headquarters on any such subject, and no
such order will be sent down through any action or influence of mine.
The Comte de Sainfoy is my friend, remember."

Ratoneau was choking with rage.

"You defy me, monsieur!" he snarled.

"Why--if such a desperate course is necessary," the Prefect murmured.
"But I would rather reason with you."

CHAPTER XIII

HOW MONSIEUR SIMON SHOWED HIMSELF A LITTLE TOO CLEVER

General Ratoneau had gone into the Prefecture in a good humour; he came
out in a bad one. The change was not lost on the police agent, still
loitering under the shade of the high white wall.

Simon was a malcontent. He had talent, he wanted power. No one was
cleverer at hunting out the details of a case; he was a born detective.
It was hard on such a man, who intended to rise high in his profession,
and found the spying and chasing of state criminals an agreeable duty,
to be under the orders of so weak-kneed an official as the Baron de
Mauves. What was the use of giving in reports that were never acted on!
In other departments there were substantial money rewards to be had, if
a police spy, at his own risk, hunted out treason against the Empire. In
other departments a Prefect made it worth while, in every sense, for his
subordinates to do their duty. In this one, since the present Prefect
came into office, there was neither rising pay nor quick promotion. He
drove with a slack rein; his weapons were trust and kindness. He had to
be driven to extremities before he would treat anybody, even a proved
Chouan, with the rigour of the law. Simon tried to do a little
terrorising on his own account, and had made some money by blackmailing
less wide-awake men than Urbain de la Mariniere; but, on the whole, he
earned more hatred than anything else in his prowlings round the
country.

Ratoneau, coming out with a sulky, scowling face from his interview with
the Prefect, happened to look up as he passed Simon, and the fellow's
expression struck him oddly. It was full of intelligence, and of a queer
kind of sympathy. He had noticed it before. Simon had made himself
useful to him in several underhand ways.

"What do you want?" he said, stopping suddenly.

Simon stepp