ite wrong," Cesar d'Ombre muttered in the ear of
Monsieur de Bourmont, who listened with a superior smile. "Such mad
violence would ruin the cause altogether. Now as hostages, those two men
would be invaluable."

"Time enough to discuss that when you have got them," said Monsieur de
Bourmont. "To me, I must confess, this plan of a rising sounds premature
and unpractical. What we want first is money--money from England, and
stronger support, too--as well as a healthier public opinion all through
this part of the country."

"Ah! but none of your waiting games for me," cried the young Baron.
"_'De l'audace'_--you know--that is the motto for Frenchmen."

"Boldness and rashness need not be the same thing," said Monsieur de
Bourmont, drily. "And remember whom you are quoting, my dear Cesar. A
dangerous person, to say the least."

A grim smile lightened d'Ombre's hard face. "It was the right thing to
say, if the devil said it," he answered.

The Vicomte des Barres rose from his chair and lounged into the middle
of the room.

"To be practical, friends," he said, "the feeling among the peasants is
the question. In this country side, Monsieur de la Mariniere ought to
know pretty well what it is. And I fear he will tell us that a good deal
of exertion will be necessary, before they will take up their guns and
pikes, and march where they are led. It goes without saying that he,
himself, is the one man to lead them. I believe, though he chooses to
live like a hermit, he is the most popular man in Anjou."

"But no--no, dear Vicomte," said Monsieur Joseph, shaking his head
violently. "It is true there are some of them who love me--but their
interest, you see, is on the other side. My brother is more popular than
I am, and he deserves it, in spite of his lamentable opinions."

"Ah, monsieur, forgive me, but do you understand your peasants?" cried
Cesar d'Ombre. "Are you doing them justice? Would they set a good farm
against their king, their religion, the salvation of their country?
Bleeding from the loss of their sons--will they think more of money and
corn-stacks and vintages than of that true peace and freedom which can
only be won by driving out tyranny? Nobody wants to put them back as
they were before 1789. The feudal ages are gone--we have given up our
rights, and there is an end of it--but we want our own kings again, and
we want peace for France, and time to breathe and to let her wounds
heal. We want to be rid of thi