t
seemed a happy retribution, though he would have done all he could to
save them from further penalties. Angelot looked up at the Prefect, his
handsome sleepy eyes alight with laughter.

"Do my uncle the pleasure of coming in, monsieur," he said. "He will be
here immediately; he has been out shooting. It is exactly breakfast
time."

"We shall be very grateful for your uncle's hospitality; we have had a
long ride in the heat," said the Prefect.

His eyes as they met Angelot's were very keen, as well as very kind and
gentle. He was a singularly good-looking man, and sat his horse
gracefully. His manners were those of the great world; he was one of the
noblest and most popular of the men of old family who had rallied to the
Empire, believing that Napoleon's genius and the glory of France were
one.

"Monsieur le General," he said, turning to his companion, "let me
present Monsieur Ange de la Mariniere, the son of Monsieur Urbain de la
Mariniere, one of my truest friends in the department."

The rough and mocking voice that answered--"Happy to make his
acquaintance"--brought the colour into Angelot's face as he bowed.

The Prefect, who for reasons of his own watched the lad curiously, saw
the change, the cloud that darkened those frank looks suddenly, and
understood it pretty well. The new military commander, risen from the
ranks in every sense, had nothing to justify his position except
courage, a talent for commanding, and devotion to the Emperor. That he
was not now fighting in Spain was due partly to quarrels with other
generals, partly to wounds received in the last Austrian campaign, which
unfitted him for the time for active service. In sending him to this
Royalist province of the West, Napoleon might have aimed at providing
the Prefect with an effective foil to his own character and connections.
The great Emperor by no means despised the trick of setting his
servants to watch one another.

One personal peculiarity this General possessed, which had both helped
and hindered him in his career. As Monsieur des Barres said, he was
exceedingly like his master. A taller, heavier man, his face and head
were a coarse likeness of Napoleon's. There were the lines of beauty
without the sweetness, the strength without the genius, the ingrained
selfishness unveiled by any mask, even of policy. General Ratoneau was
repulsive where Napoleon was attractive. He had fought under Napoleon
from the beginning, and had risen by h