reezing at their post.

"Does that look secure?"

"Why, yes--secure enough. But if those fellows were to take it into
their heads that it would be more profitable to share the prize among
ten than among sixty?"

"Secreanom!!" swore Charlot impatiently. "You do my wits poor credit.
For what do you take me? Have I gone through so much, think you,
without learning how little men are to be trusted? Faugh! Look at the
porte-cochere. The gates are closed--aye, and locked, mon cher, and
the keys are here, in my pocket. Do you imagine they are to be broken
through without arousing anyone? And then, the horses. They are in the
stables over there, and again, the keys are in my pocket. So that, you
see, I do not leave everything to the honesty of my ten most faithful
ones."

"You have learned wisdom, not a doubt of it," laughed the Deputy.

"In a hard school, Caron," answered the Captain soberly. "Aye, name of a
name, in a monstrous hard school."

He turned from the window, and the light of the tapers falling on his
face, showed it heavily scored with lines of pain, testifying to the
ugly memories which the Deputy's light words had evoked. Then suddenly
he laughed, half-bitterly, half humourously.

"La, la!" said he. "The thing's past. Charlot Tardivet the bridegroom of
Bellecour and Captain Charlot of Dumouriez' army are different men-very
different."

He strode back to the table, filled his goblet, and gulped down the
wine. Then he crossed to the fire and stood with his back to La Boulaye
for a spell. When next he faced his companion all signs of emotion had
cleared from his countenance. It was again the callous, reckless face
of Captain Charlot, rendered a trifle more reckless and a trifle more
callous by the wine-flush on his cheeks and the wine-glitter in his eye.

"Caron" said he, with a half-smile, "shall we have these ladies in to
supper?"

"God forbid!" ejaculated La Boulaye.

"Nay, but I will," the other insisted, and he moved across to the
window.

As he passed him, La Boulaye laid a detaining hand upon his arm.

"Not that, Charlot," he begged impressively, his dark face very set.
"Plunder them, turn them destitute upon the world, if you will, but
remember, at least, that they are women."

Charlot laughed in his face.

"It is something to remember, is it not? They remembered it of our
women, these aristocrats!"

There was so much ugly truth in the Captain's words, and such a
suggestion of just, if