rs with grey dusty leaves clustered by the wayside, and
distant poplars, pointing high into the evening air, showed where his
home lay. Then they turned down into one of the hollow lanes of the
country, its banks scooped out by winter rains and treading of cattle,
so that it was almost like three sides of a cylinder, while the thick
pollard oaks, leaning over it, made twilight even in the lingering
sunshine.

The General was riding in front, the gendarmes some yards behind;
Angelot, with his dog and gun, kept close beside the Prefect, who talked
to him with his usual friendliness. Presently he said, "I love your
uncle, Angelot, much better than he loves me, and I am sorry that he
should run such useless risks."

"What risks, monsieur?" the young man said, glancing up quickly; and
somehow it was difficult to meet the Prefect's eyes.

"Ah, you know very well. Believe me, your father is right, and your
uncle is wrong. The old regime cannot be reestablished. The path of
France is marked out for her; a star has arisen to guide her, and she is
foolish, suicidal, not to follow where it leads. I do not defend or
admire the Emperor in everything: but see what he has done for France.
She lay ruined, distracted. She took the mountain path of liberty, made
a few wrong turns, and was dashed over the precipice. See how the
Emperor has built her up into a great nation again; look at the laws and
the civilisation; look at the military glory which has cost much blood,
it is true, but has raised her so high in Europe that the nations who
were ready to devour her are mostly crouching at her feet. Would our
Bourbons have done all this for us, Angelot? Are they, after all, worth
the devotion of men like your uncle and--for instance--Monsieur des
Barres? Does not true patriotism lead a man to think of his country's
good and glory, not of the advantage of one special family? Your uncle
can hardly believe in that mediaeval fiction of divine right, I suppose?"

Angelot smiled. "My uncle belongs to the days of Saint Louis," he said.

"But you do not," the Prefect replied. "I find it hard to forgive him.
He is free, of course, to put his own neck in danger. One of these days
he will drive me to extremities, and will find himself and his friends
in a state prison--lucky if nothing worse happens. But he has no right
to involve you in these treasonous tricks of his. It is selfish and
immoral. Your father should see to it. You ought not to have b