d not doubt the final success of the movement, declaring that
Napoleon II., Marie-Louise, and all the marshals of the Empire were
concealed in Montaignac.

Alas! it must be confessed that Lacheneur had not hesitated to utter the
grossest falsehoods in his anxiety to gain followers.

Mme. d'Escorval could not be deceived by these ridiculous stories, but
she could believe, and she did believe that the baron was the prime
mover in this insurrection.

And this belief, which would have carried consternation to the hearts of
so many women, reassured her.

She had entire, absolute, and unlimited faith in her husband. She
believed him superior to all other men--infallible, in short. The moment
he said: "This is so!" she believed it implicitly.

Hence, if her husband had organized a movement that movement was
right. If he had attempted it, it was because he expected to succeed.
Therefore, it was sure to succeed.

Impatient, however, to know the result, she sent the gardener to
Sairmeuse with orders to obtain information without awakening suspicion,
if possible, and to hasten back as soon as he could learn anything of a
positive nature.

He returned in about two hours, pale, frightened, and in tears.

The disaster had already become known, and had been related to him with
the most terrible exaggerations. He had been told that hundreds of
men had been killed, and that a whole army was scouring the country,
massacring defenceless peasants and their families.

While he was telling his story, Mme. d'Escorval felt that she was going
mad.

She saw--yes, positively, she saw her son and her husband, dead--or
still worse, mortally wounded upon the public highway--they were lying
with their arms crossed upon their breasts, livid, bloody, their eyes
staring wildly--they were begging for water--a drop of water.

"I will find them!" she exclaimed, in frenzied accents. "I will go to
the field of battle, I will seek for them among the dead, until I find
them. Light some torches, my friends, and come with me, for you will aid
me, will you not? You loved them; they were so good! You would not leave
their dead bodies unburied! oh! the wretches! the wretches who have
killed them!"

The servants were hastening to obey when the furious gallop of a horse
and the sound of carriage-wheels were heard upon the drive.

"Here they are!" exclaimed the gardener; "here they are!"

Mme. d'Escorval, followed by the servants, rushed to the door j