was visibly frightened, "I should wear mourning from the day when I had
yielded him to danger; I should know no peace of mind."

No answer was made to this speech. She turned her head repeatedly to
the escort and then suddenly to Madame du Gua, without detecting the
slightest secret signal between the lady and the Gars which might have
confirmed her suspicions on the nature of their intimacy, which she
longed to doubt. The young chief calmly smiled, and bore without
flinching the scrutiny she forced him to undergo; his attitude and the
expression of his face were those of a man indifferent to danger; he
even seemed to say at times: "This is your chance to avenge your wounded
vanity--take it! I have no desire to lessen my contempt for you."

Mademoiselle de Verneuil began to study the young man from the
vantage-ground of her position with coolness and dignity; at the
bottom of her heart she admired his courage and tranquillity. Happy
in discovering that the man she loved bore an ancient title (the
distinctions of which please every woman), she also found pleasure in
meeting him in their present situation, where, as champion of a cause
ennobled by misfortune, he was fighting with all the faculties of a
strong soul against a Republic that was constantly victorious. She
rejoiced to see him brought face to face with danger, and still
displaying the courage and bravery so powerful on a woman's heart; again
and again she put him to the test, obeying perhaps the instinct which
induces a woman to play with her victim as a cat plays with a mouse.

"By virtue of what law do you put the Chouans to death?" she said to
Merle.

"That of the 14th of last Fructidor, which outlaws the insurgent
departments and proclaims martial law," replied the Republican.

"May I ask why I have the honor to attract your eyes?" she said
presently to the young chief, who was attentively watching her.

"Because of a feeling which a man of honor cannot express to any woman,
no matter who she is," replied the Marquis de Montauran, in a low voice,
bending down to her. "We live in times," he said aloud, "when women do
the work of the executioner and wield the axe with even better effect."

She looked at de Montauran fixedly; then, delighted to be attacked
by the man whose life she held in her hands, she said in a low voice,
smiling softly: "Your head is a very poor one; the executioner does not
want it; I shall keep it myself."

The marquis looked at