shut our gates and fling
defiance at them. We are well-manned, and Fortunio is seeking fresh
recruits."

"Seeking them, yes," she sneered. "For a week has the fellow been
spending money like water, addling the brains of half Grenoble with the
best wine at the Auberge de France, yet not a single recruit has come
in, so far."

Marius laughed. "Your pessimism leads you into rash conclusions," he
cried. "You are wrong. One recruit has come in."

"One!" she echoed. "A thousand devils! A brave number that! A fine
return for the river of wine with which we have washed the stomachs of
Grenoble."

"Still, it is a beginning," ventured the Seneschal.

"Aye, and, no doubt, an ending," she flashed back at him. "And what
manner of fool may this one be, whose fortunes were so desperate that he
could throw them in with ours?"

"He is an Italian--a Piedmontese who has tramped across Savoy and was on
his way to Paris to make his fortune, when Fortunio caught him and made
it clear to him that his fortune was made for him at Condillac. He is
a lusty, stalwart fellow, speaking no word of French, who was drawn to
Fortunio by discovering in him a fellow-countryman."

Mockery flashed from the Dowager's beautiful eyes.

"In that you have the reason of his enrolling himself. He knew no word
of French, poor devil, so could not learn how rash his venture was.
Could we find more such men as this one it might be well. But where
shall we find them? Pish! my dear Marius, matters are little mended,
nor ever will be, for the mistake we made in allowing Garnache to go his
ways."

"Madame;" again ventured Tressan, "I think that you want for
hopefulness."

"At least, I do not want for courage, Monsieur le Comte," she answered
him; "and I promise you that while I live--to handle a sword if need
be--no Paris men shall set foot in Condillac."

"Aye," grumbled Marius, "you can contemplate that, and it is all you
do contemplate. You will not see, madame that our position is far from
desperate; that, after all, there may be no need to resist the King. It
is three months since we had news of Florimond. Much may happen in three
months when a man is warring. It may well be that he is dead."

"I wish I knew he was--and damned," she snapped, with a tightening of
her scarlet lips.

"Yes," agreed Marius, with a sigh, "that were an end to all our
troubles."

"I'm none so sure. There is still mademoiselle, with her new-formed
friends in Paris--may a p