"That is decided," said Angelot, smiling. "Joubard will shake his head, but he will obey you. You are a tyrant in your way."

"Perhaps!" Urbain said, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his mouth. "A benevolent despot.

Obedience is good for the soul--n'est-ce pas, madame? I give my commands for the good of others, and pure reason lies behind them. What is it, Nego?"

The dog lifted his black head and growled. There was a sharp clank of footsteps on the stones outside.

"A bas, Nego!" cried Angelot, as a soldier, with a letter in his hand, appeared at the window.

The dog sprang up, barking furiously, about to fly at him.

"See to your dog! Take him away!" Monsieur Urbain shouted to Angelot.

The young man threw himself on the dog and dragged him, snarling, out of the room. Anne looked up with surprise at the soldier, who saluted, standing outside the low window-sill. Urbain went to him, and took the letter from his hand.

"It is Monsieur de la Mariniere?" said the man. "At your service. From Monsieur le General. Is there an answer?"

"Wait a moment, my man," said Urbain.

He broke the large red seal, standing by the window. One glance showed him the contents of the letter, for they were only three words and an initial.

--"_Tout va bien. R._"--

But though the words were few, their significance was great, and it kept the st.u.r.dy master of La Mariniere standing motionless for a minute or two in a dream, with the open letter in his hand, forgetful alike of the messenger waiting outside, and of his wife behind him at the table. A dark stain of colour stole up into his sunburnt face, his strong mouth quivered, then set itself obstinately. So! this thing was to happen.

Treason to Herve, was it? No, it was for his good, for everybody's good.

Sentiment was out of place in a political matter such as this. Sacrifice of a girl? well, what was gained in the world without sacrifice? Let her think herself Iphigenia, if she chose; but, after all, many girls as n.o.ble and as pretty had shown her the way she was to go.

"All goes well!" he muttered between his teeth. "This gentleman is impatient; he does not let the gra.s.s grow. Odd enough that we have to thank our dear Joseph for suggesting it!" Then he woke to outside things, among them the waiting soldier, standing there like a wooden image in the blaze of sunshine.

"No answer, my friend," he said.

He took out a five-franc piece and gave it to the man, not without a glance at the splendid Roman head upon it.

"He only needs a little idealising!" he said to himself; then aloud to the soldier: "My best compliments to Monsieur le General. Go to the kitchen; they will give you something to eat and drink after your ride."

"Merci, monsieur!" the soldier saluted and went.

Urbain folded the letter, put it into his pocket, and returned silently to his breakfast. Something about him warned his wife that it would be better not to ask questions; but Anne seldom observed such warnings, for she did not know what it was to be afraid of Urbain, though she was often angry with him. With Angelot it was different; he had sometimes reason to fear his father; but for Anne, the tenderness was always greater than the severity.

They were alone for a few minutes, Angelot not having reappeared. While Urbain hurriedly devoured his sorrel and eggs, his wife gazed at him with anxious eyes across the table.

"You correspond with that odious General!" she said. "What about, my dear friend? What can he have to say to you?"

"Ah, bah! the curiosity of women!" said Monsieur Urbain, bending over his plate.

"Yes," Anne said, smiling faintly. "It exists, and therefore it must be gratified. Is not that a doctrine after your own heart? What was that letter about, tell me? You could not hide that it interested you deeply."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Remember, we never talk politics, you and I. Not even the politics of the department."

"It has something to do with the Chouans, then? With Joseph? Ah, but do not trust that man, Urbain! he has a horrid face. Did you see him yesterday? Did he say anything about Joseph--and about Ange? He has a spite against Ange, I believe."

"Do not be uneasy," Monsieur Urbain replied. "I did see him yesterday, if you must know, my dear Anne. He is friendly; well, you can see the letter. I do not choose to explain it altogether, but it speaks for itself."

He took out the letter, unfolded it, and handed it to her with a curious smile.

"_Tout va bien!_" Anne read aloud. "What does he mean?"

"He means, I suppose, that my mind may be at rest. You see that he is in a good temper."

"It looks like it, certainly. But that is strange, too. Had Herve de Sainfoy sent him an answer? When you saw him, did he know--"

"Yes, he knew."

"How did he bear it?"

"Like a man."

"Really! One dislikes him a little less for that. But still, Urbain, why should you have anything to do with him? Is it not enough that the Prefect is so friendly to us all? With his protection, Joseph and Ange are not in any real danger."

"It is best to have two strings to one's bow," answered Urbain. "I prefer Ratoneau a friend to Ratoneau an enemy."

"I should like best no Ratoneau at all," said Anne. She flicked the letter back to him from the tips of her fingers, lightly and scornfully.

"How could Adelade talk to him for a whole evening!" she sighed.

"Adelade is a woman of the world, as we have decided before," said Urbain. "Say no more; here is the boy. It is best that he should know nothing of this--do you understand?"

Anne understood, or thought she did; and a nod and smile from her went a long way towards rea.s.suring Angelot, who had been a little puzzled by the sudden appearance of the soldier. But he was not curious; his father was by no means in the habit of telling him everything, making indeed a thin cloud of wilful mystery about some of his doings. It had always been so; and Angelot had grown up with a certain amount of blind trust in the hand which had guided his mother and himself through the th.o.r.n.y years of his childhood.

At this moment he was distracted by a very serious attack on Nego. The dog would have to be shot, Monsieur Urbain said, if he received people so savagely; and in defending Nego the rest of Angelot's breakfast-time was spent.

Later on he was a little surprised by his father's telling him to go alone to La Joubardiere and arrange about the vintage. Urbain had remembered business, he said, which called him to Lancilly. He turned away and left the room without a word, without seeing, or perhaps choosing to see, the sudden flame of irritation in Anne's dark eyes, the light of another feeling in Angelot's.

The young fellow lingered a moment in the dining-room window, and watched the st.u.r.dy figure walking away in linen clothes and a straw hat, the shoulders slightly bent from study, the whole effect that of honest strength and capacity, not at all of intrigue and ruse. Then he turned round and met his mother's eyes. For a moment it seemed as if they must read each other's soul. But Anne only said: "Do not delay, my boy. Go to Joubard; arrange things to please your father. We must remember; he is wiser than we are; he does the best for us all."

"Yes, my little mother," said Angelot. "Only--Nego shall not be shot.

Yes, I am going this instant."

He took her hand and kissed it. She pushed back his hair and kissed his forehead.

"And what are you going to do?" he said. "Come with me to see the old Joubards."

"No, no. I must go to the church," she said. "I was hurried this morning."

As Urbain crossed the valley, going through the little hamlet, down the white stony lane, between high hedges, then by field paths across to the lower poplar-shaded road, then along by the slow, bright stream to the bridge and the first white houses of Lancilly, he thought with some amus.e.m.e.nt and satisfaction of that morning's diplomacy. He had not the smallest intention of taking his dear and pretty Anne into his confidence. The little plot, which Adelade and he had hatched so cleverly, must remain between them and the General.

This power of suggesting was a wonderful thing, truly. A word had been enough to set the whole machinery going. If he rightly understood that _Tout va bien_, it meant that the Prefect was ready at once to do his part. That seemed a little strange; but after all, De Mauves would not have reached his present position without some cleverness to help him, and no doubt he saw, as Urbain did, the excellence of this arrangement for everybody all round. Herve de Sainfoy was really foolish; his own enemy: Urbain and Adelade were his friends; they knew how to make use of the mammon of unrighteousness. The advantages of such a connection with the Empire were really uncountable. Urbain was quite sure that he was justified in plotting against Herve for his good. Did he not love him like a brother? Would he not have given him the last penny in his purse, the last crust if they were starving? And as for misleading Anne a little, that too seemed right to his conscience. It was only a case of economising truth, after all. In the end, the Ratoneau connection would be useful in saving Joseph and his friends, no doubt, from some of the consequences of their foolishness.

It was with the serenity of success and conscious virtue, deepened and brightened by the joy of pleasing the beautiful Adelade, that Urbain, finding her alone, put the General's letter into her hand.