ndeed, I could no longer
doubt you. I believed in you when you were deceiving me, and you
will not believe me now when I am true. Let us make an end of this,
monsieur," she said, frowning, but turning pale as death,--"adieu!"

She rushed towards the dining-room with a movement of despair.

"Marie, my life is yours," said the young marquis in her ear.

She stopped short and looked at him.

"No, no," she said, "I will be generous. Farewell. In coming with
you here I did not think of my past nor of your future--I was beside
myself."

"You cannot mean that you will leave me now when I offer you my life?"

"You offer it in a moment of passion--of desire."

"I offer it without regret, and forever," he replied.

She returned to the room they had left. Hiding his emotions the marquis
continued the conversation.

"That fat priest whose name you asked is the Abbe Gudin, a Jesuit,
obstinate enough--perhaps I ought to say devoted enough,--to remain in
France in spite of the decree of 1793, which banished his order. He
is the firebrand of the war in these regions and a propagandist of the
religious association called the Sacre-Coeur. Trained to use religion as
an instrument, he persuades his followers that if they are killed
they will be brought to life again, and he knows how to rouse their
fanaticism by shrewd sermons. You see, it is necessary to work upon
every man's selfish interests to attain a great end. That is the secret
of all political success."

"And that vigorous, muscular old man, with the repulsive face, who is
he? I mean the one in the ragged gown of a barrister."

"Barrister! he aspires to be considered a brigadier-general. Did you
never hear of de Longuy?"

"Is that he!" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Verneuil, horrified. "You employ
such men as that?"

"Hush! he'll hear you. Do you see that other man in malignant
conversation with Madame du Gua?"

"The one in black who looks like a judge?"

"That is one of our go-betweens, La Billardiere, son of a councillor to
the Breton Parliament, whose real name is something like Flamet; he is
in close correspondence with the princes."

"And his neighbor? the one who is just putting up his white clay pipe,
and uses all the fingers of his right hand to snap the box, like a
countryman."

"By Jove, you are right; he was game-keeper to the deceased husband
of that lady, and now commands one of the companies I send against the
Republican militia. He and Marche-a-Ter