oment he arrives?" cried Corentin,
suddenly. "Hulot does not know he is coming, and--" He stopped as if he
had said too much. "But how absurd that you should ask me how to play
a trick," he said, with an easy laugh. "Now listen, Marie, I do feel
certain of your loyalty. Promise me a compensation for all I lose in
furthering your wishes, and I will make that old fool of a commandant
so unsuspicious that the marquis will be as safe at Fougeres as at
Saint-James."

"Yes, I promise it," said the girl, with a sort of solemnity.

"No, not in that way," he said, "swear it by your mother."

Mademoiselle de Verneuil shuddered; raising a trembling hand she made
the oath required by the man whose tone to her had changed so suddenly.

"You can command me," he said; "don't deceive me again, and you shall
have reason to bless me to-night."

"I will trust you, Corentin," cried Mademoiselle de Verneuil, much
moved. She bowed her head gently towards him and smiled with a kindness
not unmixed with surprise, as she saw an expression of melancholy
tenderness on his face.

"What an enchanting creature!" thought Corentin, as he left the house.
"Shall I ever get her as a means to fortune and a source of delight? To
fling herself at my feet! Oh, yes, the marquis shall die! If I can't get
that woman in any other way than by dragging her through the mud, I'll
sink her in it. At any rate," he thought, as he reached the square
unconscious of his steps, "she no longer distrusts me. Three hundred
thousand francs down! she thinks me grasping! Either the offer was a
trick or she is already married to him."

Corentin, buried in thought, was unable to come to a resolution. The
fog which the sun had dispersed at mid-day was now rolling thicker and
thicker, so that he could hardly see the trees at a little distance.

"That's another piece of ill-luck," he muttered, as he turned slowly
homeward. "It is impossible to see ten feet. The weather protects the
lovers. How is one to watch a house in such a fog? Who goes there?" he
cried, catching the arm of a boy who seemed to have clambered up the
dangerous rocks which made the terrace of the Promenade.

"It is I," said a childish voice.

"Ah! the boy with the bloody foot. Do you want to revenge your father?"
said Corentin.

"Yes," said the child.

"Very good. Do you know the Gars?"

"Yes."

"Good again. Now, don't leave me except to do what I bid you, and you
will obey your mother and earn som