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grieve that necessity should force me to say so, but I am convinced that everything you are advised to do will be harmful to the cause of your son. We are well affected about here, Madame; but unless we are powerfully reinforced, we have but a barren devotion to offer.'

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What, gentlemen!' cried the duchess. In the hour of her glory no single member of my family ever shared the perils of la Vendée; we have been justly reproached with that. I make no count of difficulties -I come and for me you can do nothing?'

'It is time to tell you the truth, Madame,' put in de Goyon from the window. We have been assured over and over again in your name that la Vendée would only be called upon to arm in the event of Your Royal Highness' success in the Southern provinces—in the event of the proclamation of a Republic by the Parisians, or in case of foreign invasion along the frontier. All this we have repeated to our followers. Not one of us can do anything after the failure at Marseilles. Your Royal Highness is compelled to hide. Pursuit is organized against you. We cannot deceive our peasants. They are depressed and disheartened. The papers have it that you are a prisoner, and they believe this. In one word, Madame, they will not rise—we are sure of that.'

Many of the leaders of la Vendée have come to me,' chimed in de Goulaine; in fact, they are with me now; they beg me to entreat you not to listen to those who counsel a rising.'

The pale cheeks of the little duchess glowed. Colour became her.

'The generals on the right and left banks of the Loire will do their duty, you may be sure of that!' she

said defiantly. 'I have this moment received a letter from monsieur de la Roche-Macé. He tells me that his Division will rise to a man.'

'For my own part, Madame,' said de Goulaine, who in his turn was growing warm, ‘I am persuaded that the general on the left bank, count Charles d'Autichamp, will never give the order for the rising.'

'Are you sure of that?' said Madame; her eyes sparkled.

'We are certain,' the four men said together.

She drew from her pocket the Order signed by d'Autichamp the day before, and read:

"MADAME,

"The general who has just arrived in la Vendée has transmitted the Order for a rising on the twenty-fourth of this month to all our faithful followers in the provinces of the West and South. Every royalist in France has been warned, and will act in consequence. By giving this Order to the corps that you command you will communicate to the brave people of la Vendée the confidence inspired in us by a Princess who has escaped, as if by miracle, the pursuit of her enemies. God has protected her; He will protect us also. We are about to fight for His holy

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With dumb rage Lucien saw that not one of the four men had changed countenance.

'Very unwise,' de Goulaine said. 'You bid me speak the truth, Madame. A rising at the present moment is impossible. It must be countermanded.'

The very forms of politeness were falling away. The words were few and earnest. They had come to close quarters at last.

'Too late!' she exclaimed; 'it would be quite impossible to warn the West in time. The farthest Divisions would be in arms; we should sacrifice them.' Still no one of the four responded.

'When I was with you at la Grange four years ago, there was a night-lamp at my bedside, and round the rim was written: "Rest quietly. La Vendée watches." Has she fallen asleep?'

No response.

Madame sat up straight and stiff, and spoke in an altered tone:

'If your colleagues now at la Grange decline to march at the head of their Divisions, they must give me their refusal in writing, that de Charette may fill their places. I see too clearly, Monsieur de Goulaine, that I cannot count upon yours to defend me.'

He did not contradict her.

She looked round, utterly bewildered. Lucien would have thrown himself at her feet, but she turned to de Goulaine as if there were no one else present. Into her next words she thrust every power that she possessed.

'But you in person,' she went on—' you, the noble marquis, the Gentleman of the King's Bedchamberwill you be at my side in the day of peril?'

The appeal was so imperious that Lucien, startled though he was, could not resent it.

'I will, Madame.'

De Goulaine bowed low.

The other three echoed his words.

'The Council is dissolved,' she said, rising.

What was it that transformed her? She touched

the ceiling as she stood.

CHAPTER XVII

DE CIVRAC TO THE RESCUE

THE four allies went out.

The chair that had been as the throne of a Queen was all too large now for the little shrunken figure that sank back into it. The fire still smouldered, the candle flared and guttered. Night had let down ' curtain between the vines and the clouds.

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They are all against me,' she said.

'God is for you, Madame.'

Lucien knelt at her feet, kissed her cold hand. The voice of the four men was nothing but air. Certain as the assurance of his nature that he would one day be famous was his persuasion that the duchess must win; but for his part he would have had her win with one adherent, nor was he at all desirous that she should win quickly.

'Let them go,' he said; ' you are stronger without them.'

She shook her head-sighed.

There was a low tap at the door, and de Civrac came in.

He bowed to Madame, whom he had seen before, greeting Lucien with neither more nor less emotion than if he had just arrived at the château de Morfontaine. The boy sprang to his feet, blushed, blushed again in anger because he blushed.

'I was not able to return earlier,' said the marquis.

'Permit me to suggest, Madame, that you should take some repose. Our friend here will tell me the result of the conference.'

‘You will be glad of it. You will think me a fool.

She shook his hand.

You will be sorry for me. You will not leave me?'

‘No assurance is needed, I think, on that point.' She glided from the room like a shadow; the marquis seated himself in the vacant arm-chair.

‘They told Her Royal Highness they had not men enough to fight, I suppose?'

They did.'

"They urged her to countermand the rising?' 'Yes.'

'Which she refused to do?'

'Naturally.'

A grave smile played over the face of the marquis. 'Yet men are not less ready to fight in real life than they are in a book,' he said; ‘ they are only less ready to lead others to fight. By the way, have you written anything of late?’

The familiar question for which Lucien had often waited, and longed, in the old days!

'No,' he said, with a touch of joyous defiance; 'but I have burnt "The Marionettes of Love."'

'Foolish boy! You cannot afford to throw away plots in that fashion. The plot was well contrived; by-and-by you would have cared to read it, if no one else did.'

They laughed together.

'Can you tell me who wrote the Song that everyone in Lyons-man, woman, and child-was singing about three weeks ago?'

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