h's door, to avoid answering
inquisitive persons. I have just got rid of a man in the most natural
way, who might have unmasked me."

At seven o'clock on the previous evening Lucien had set out in his own
chaise to post to Fontainebleau with a passport he had procured in the
morning; he slept in the nearest inn on the Nemours side. At six in the
morning he went alone, and on foot, through the forest as far as Bouron.

"This," said he to himself, as he sat down on one of the rocks that
command the fine landscape of Bouron, "is the fatal spot where
Napoleon dreamed of making a final tremendous effort on the eve of his
abdication."

At daybreak he heard the approach of post-horses and saw a britska drive
past, in which sat the servants of the Duchesse de Lenoncourt-Chaulieu
and Clotilde de Grandlieu's maid.

"Here they are!" thought Lucien. "Now, to play the farce well, and I
shall be saved!--the Duc de Grandlieu's son-in-law in spite of him!"

It was an hour later when he heard the peculiar sound made by a superior
traveling carriage, as the berline came near in which two ladies were
sitting. They had given orders that the drag should be put on for the
hill down to Bouron, and the man-servant behind the carriage had it
stopped.

At this instant Lucien came forward.

"Clotilde!" said he, tapping on the window.

"No," said the young Duchess to her friend, "he shall not get into the
carriage, and we will not be alone with him, my dear. Speak to him for
the last time--to that I consent; but on the road, where we will walk
on, and where Baptiste can escort us.--The morning is fine, we are well
wrapped up, and have no fear of the cold. The carriage can follow."

The two women got out.

"Baptiste," said the Duchess, "the post-boy can follow slowly; we want
to walk a little way. You must keep near us."

Madeleine de Mortsauf took Clotilde by the arm and allowed Lucien to
talk. They thus walked on as far as the village of Grez. It was now
eight o'clock, and there Clotilde dismissed Lucien.

"Well, my friend," said she, closing this long interview with much
dignity, "I never shall marry any one but you. I would rather believe
in you than in other men, in my father and mother--no woman ever gave
greater proof of attachment surely?--Now, try to counteract the fatal
prejudices which militate against you."

Just then the tramp of galloping horses was heard, and, to the great
amazement of the ladies, a force of genda