existed since the day of Louis XIV.--in order to gain time."

"An unscrupulous Government can do anything in France," replied the
lady's son. "Their existence depends upon delay, and they are aware of
it. They would ruin France rather than forego their own aggrandisement.
And this is part of their scheme. They seek to delay us at all costs.
To kidnap de Bourbon was the first move. It failed. This is their second
move. What must be our countermove?"

He clasped his hands behind his willowy back and paced slowly backward
and forward. By a gesture, Madame de Chantonnay bade the Marquis keep
silence while she drew his attention to the attitude of her son. When he
paused and fingered his whisker she gasped excitedly.

"I have it," said Albert, with an upward glance of inspiration.

"Yes, my son?"

"The Beauvoir estate," replied Albert, "left to me by my uncle. It is
worth three hundred thousand francs. That is enough for the moment. That
must be our counter-move."

Madame de Chantonnay protested volubly. For if Frenchmen are ready to
sacrifice, or, at all events, to risk all for a sentiment--and history
says nothing to the contrary--Frenchwomen are eminently practical and
far-sighted.

Madame had a hundred reasons why the Beauvoir estate should not be sold.
Many of them contradicted each other. She was not what may be called a
close reasoner, but she was roughly effective. Many a general has won a
victory not by the accuracy, but by the volume of his fire.

"What will become of France," she cried to Albert's retreating back as
he walked to and fro, "if none of the old families has a son to bless
itself with? And Heaven knows that there are few enough remaining now.
Besides, you will want to marry some day, and what will your bride say
when you have no money? There are no dots growing in the hedgerows now.
Not that I am a stickler for a dot. Give me heart, I always say, and
keep the money yourself. And some day you will find a loving heart, but
no dot. And there is a tragedy at once--ready made. Is it not so, my old
friend?"

She turned to the Marquis de Gemosac for confirmation of this forecast.

"It is a danger, Madame," was the reply. "It is a danger which it would
be well to foresee."

They had discussed a hundred times the possibility of a romantic
marriage between their two houses. Juliette and Albert--the two last
representatives of an old nobility long-famed in the annals of the
west--might well fall in