André was wrong in his supposition. Talon was not expected at the château: it was by chance that Pierre had stood for a time by the gate, busy with lighting a couple of laterns which he usually carried with him about the house. He had spied Hector Talon and opened the gate for him. He gave him a lantern, and Talon made his way across the hall and up the stairs with a catlike tread. He was one of those men who have carried the trick of walking noiselessly to a fine art: he made no sound as he went across the great reception room and came to a halt outside the boudoir door. Here he extinguished the lantern, then waited. Stooping, he glued first an eye and then an ear to the keyhole. What he heard seemed to please him, for his hatchet face broadened into a leer.

He knocked softly at the door, heard Monseigneur's voice and Jeannette's shuffling tread. The door was opened, and with a timid: "May I enter?" he stepped into the room.

Monseigneur was half sitting, half lying across the sofa: his cravat was undone. Aurore was behind him, intent on placing a white linen bandage over his forehead. M. l'Abbé de Rosemonde was sitting at the table in the window with his breviary open before him. No one said a word to Talon as he entered, but after a moment or two Jeannette, still at the door, turned to Aurore and asked: "Can I see about supper now, mademoiselle?" Aurore nodded, and Jeannette went away.

Talon ventured a step or two farther into the room.

"Monseigneur..." he began in his most obsequious tone.

De Marigny raised his head slightly, half opened his eyes, and looked Talon up and down as if he did not know who he was.

"Why are you here?" he asked at last. "Get out!"

"Monseigneur," Talon reiterated in a gentle, persuasive voice, "you know you can command my devotion. I am here to offer you my services."

"There is nothing you can do," Charles de Marigny said wearily. "Go away."

Talon glanced from one face to the other. The Abbé appeared absorbed in his breviary. Aurore had not once glanced at him. Talon thought the Abbé's attitude looked the least uncompromising.

"M. l'Abbé," he pleaded, "do, I entreat you, persuade Monseigneur that it is in his best interests and those of Mademoiselle Aurore to listen to me. I have come with the best and most loyal intentions."

Thus directly appealed to, the Abbé said, not unkindly: "Even so, my good Talon, I don't see what you can do. I don't suppose you know all that happened here this afternoon. You were so very safely out of the way."

"I do know, M. l'Abbé," Talon rejoined. "Everything."

At which Aurore's tired, swollen eyes shot a quick, suspicious glance at him.

"I met that blackguard André Vallon just now," Talon went on glibly, "coming away from here... alone. He chose to jeer at me for my loyalty to Monseigneur, and to threaten me with denunciation as a traitor if I did aught to cross his villainous schemes." He paused a moment, measuring the effect of his outrageous lies, and then went on, dropping his voice almost to a whisper: "He openly boasted before me of - of his coming marriage with Mademoiselle Aurore."

Again he paused, waiting for a word, a sign, either from Monseigneur or from the girl. He felt sick with apprehension and found it terribly difficult to keep up this appearance of obsequiousness, the habit of which he had lost in these past few years. He also felt very tired. he had had a very trying day, both physically and emotionally. His head ached, and his feet were sore; his knees scarcely bore him. He wanted to sit down, to fall back into the easy familiarity to which he had accustomed himself of late, but he had too much at stake to dare risk offending Monseigneur or Mademoiselle. He had garnered scraps of information from the crowd as he met them wending their way homeward, but had scarcely believed his ears when, with much jeering and laughing and obvious satisfaction, they told him of Citizen Vallon's extraordinary project to marry the daughter of the aristo.

The last thing in the world Talon could have foreseen! The last thing in the world he would have wished. De Marigny's daughter married to a man like Vallon - well known in influential places as a friend of Danton - and "good-bye" to his beloved scheme of obtaining possession of the estates. There would no longer be the slightest need to emigrate or to transfer the property for worthless bonds to him. The situation was perilous because it was imminent. The women in the crowd had talked of the legal marriage taking place on the morrow. Talon had hurried up to the château. He wanted to clear up this dangerous situation. If Aurore de Marigny had indeed agreed to the marriage in order to save her father's life and her own, she must as quickly as possible be made to realize that such a sacrifice was unnecessary while there was a faithful and loyal bailiff at hand to show an easier and more dignified way out.

It was a little disconcerting to see her so calm and silent, and Monseigneur more disdainful than ever, when he had thought to find them both distraught and verging on despair. In spite of his aching feet and tired back Talon did not sit down, and as the Abbé appeared to be more approachable than the others, Talon kept his attention fixed on him:

"Monsieur l'Abbé," he began, "you are a holy man; your loyalty to Monseigneur is as great as my own. Surely you will not allow this monstrous union to take place."

"You know as well as I do," the Abbé replied simply, "that I am powerless to prevent it."

"I know nothing of the sort, M. l'Abbé," Talon retorted with well feigned vehemence. "Anyone who, like yourself, has Monseigneur's complete confidence can prevent it. You especially."

"My ministration," the Abbé said, "is not imperative. André Vallon is a lawyer, and he knows that. If I refuse-"

"I did not mean that, M. l'Abbé!" Talon broke in impatiently. "We are none of us lawyers here, and yet we all know that by the new marriage laws a declaration before the maire is all that is necessary. I did not mean anything so futile."

"Then what did you mean, my good Talon?" the Curé asked, naïvely.

"That Monseigneur and Mademoiselle must get away while there is still time."

"Get away?" The old man was puzzled, for he had never heard of Monseigneur's half-formed project to emigrate. "Get away? How? Where?" He closed his breviary and leaned forward, listening eagerly, while even Monseigneur seemed to forget his pain and weariness and sat up to gaze inquiringly on Talon, and Aurore's great tired eyes seemed indeed to probe to the very depths of the man's soul.

Talon glanced round, satisfied. He thought he time had come when he might sit down, and he sank into a chair with a great sigh of satisfaction. He beamed on Monseigneur, with arms outspread, like a kind and benevolent father talking to weeping children: "Voyons, monseigneur," he said, "mademoiselle! did you really think that Talon would abandon you in the hour of your greatest need? Why, ever since that awful rabble set out to intimidate you up here, I have been scheming and planning to encompass your safety."

"Don't talk so much drivel, Talon," Monseigneur put in drily, "but tell us what you want."

"To get you away from here as soon as possible."

"Too late," Monseigneur sighed involuntarily.

"Why too late? It wants three more hours before midnight and eight before the dawn."

"What do you mean, Talon?"

"That I will have a covered cart here at your door about three o'clock of the morning. One of my farm hands will drive you to Nevers. There you can get the diligence to Bourges. it starts soon after dawn. At Bourges you can easily get a further conveyance as far as Tours.... You have money, I suppose?"

"Yes, some - but no papers, no passports - nothing!"

"I have both," Talon continued eagerly. "I have papers and passports which were made out six months ago for my brother-in-law, who was a widower, and his daughter. He died before he could undertake the journey, and she has gone to live with relatives somewhere in the South. I found the papers among his effects without ever thinking that they would be of use. They are yours, if you like to use them. You can easily make up to look like the owner of the passport, Achille Vérand: he was about your age and build; and young ladies," he concluded jocosely, "can always be made up to look like one another."

The whole thing was a lie, of course. It was more than six months since Hector Talon had nursed hopes that Charles de Marigny would one day decide to emigrate. He had forged or stolen the papers, or mayhap just acquired them from some influential friend. Men like Talon always contrive to get what official documents they want. Anyway, there they were, the blessed, blessed passports! Talon laid them on the table, and the table was then dragged across to the sofa so that Monseigneur could look at them at his ease. Monseigneur, Mademoiselle, and M. l'Abbé all pored over them. Those blessed, blessed passports!

They were made out in the dame of Achille Vérand, doctor of philosophy, aged sixty, native of Vanzy in Nièvre, and of Mariguérite Vérand his daughter, spinster, aged twenty-two. The descriptions? Well, they certainly did tally in a wonderful - an unexplainable manner. And all the papers had the official seal of the maire of Vanzy and the countersign of the local member of the Committee of Public Safety which sits at Nevers. Everything was in perfect, in absolute order. It was a most marvellous, a most heaven-sent coincidence that Monseigneur and Mademoiselle could make up so easily to resemble Achille and Marguérite Vérand.

Aurore, even Aurore, in her eagerness forgot all her prejudices against Talon. He was no longer to be suspected of evil intentions. He was the harbinger of hope. Captives, they were being shown he way to deliverance; drowning, they felt a hand stretched out to drag them to the shore. M. l'Abbé was once more getting convinced that God was on the side of the Royalist cause. And Talon was entirely in his element. Easy, familiar, jocose, he propounded his plan, satisfied that at last, not only was he in sight of the life's desire, but actually held the prize in his hand.

"You could go too, M. l'Abbé," he said, "if you wish. I can arrange papers for you also."

He had friends in Paris, he explained. Certain services which he had rendered the country had forced men in high places to recognize his worth, so if M. l'Abbé desired... But M. l'Abbé gently shook his head.

"While the altar of God stands in Val-le-Roi," he said, "I shall be there to administer the Holy Sacraments. But, monseigneur," he exclaimed in no ecstasy of hope, "my dear Aurore, to think that freedom can, with the will of God, be yours!"

She talked of not going without him, but he said earnestly: "Your father is your first consideration, my child. It is his life and your honour that are in peril. Your father must be your first and, indeed, your only thought."

And frankly, Monseigneur agreed with him. Probably he did not think that the Abbé would be in any danger, once he and Aurore were out of the way. It was against them that the fury of the mob and of that brutish ruffian Vallon was directed. And to his proud spirit any human life was worth the sacrifice to save the daughter of De Marigny from the outrage of a union with an André Vallon.

Presently some of the excitement subsided, and Talon's plan was soberly discussed. Aurore went out of the room to put a few necessities together for herself and her father. The cart, Talon explained, would be at the gate one hour before the break of dawn. Two hours' drive, and they would be in Nevers. At six o'clock the diligence started for Bourges. Talon had thought of everything, and the farm hand who would drive the cart was loyal and reliable.

Only one more matter had to be settled: the assignment of the Marigny estates to Hector Talon, bailiff, native of Val-le-Roi in Nièvre, for the sum of two million livres, payable in State assignats, receipt of which was hereby acknowledged by the vendor Charles Henri Marigny, ci-devant Duc de Marigny. Monseigneur hardly did more than glance at the papers. The horrors which he had gone through that afternoon had somewhat sobered that arrogant sense of possessio and prerogative which theoretically he would have guarded with his life. But when it came to Aurore's future - her future with that brutish ruffian - by God! Charles de Marigny would have assigned all his worldly belongings, without counting the cost, to any man who saved her from such a fate.

He signed the papers, and Talon solemnly laid on the table assignats with the face value of two million livres. He had sufficient self-control not to show too plainly how intense was his satisfaction. He folded up the papers most carefully and tucked them inside his coat.

"This is a step which you will never regret, my friend," he said.

"Perhaps not," De Marigny retorted drily, "but let me assure you of one thing, my man, and that is that you will regret it - bitterly - if in any way you play me false."

"My dear sir," Talon protested. "How can you think-"

"Oh! I know more about the laws of this hellish government than you suppose. I know, for instance, that these assignments are not valid if the assignor dies within the year. The State in that case takes possession of the property. So it is not in your interest, you rascal, to play the traitor, and you know it."

"My good friend-"

"Enough! Mademoiselle and I are safe from your double dealings for one year. Long before then, please God, we shall be in Belgium. And when sanity once more reigns in this demented land, and the King - God save him! - comes back into his own, your rule over my property will automatically cease."

"I know that, my good sir!"

"A sound-minded government will soon make you disgorge."

"I am taking that risk."

"Well, so long as you know that you are taking it... I only wanted you to understand that I am not the fool you fondly imagine. I am taking a risk, I know - but I am banking on the not far distant future when rascals such as you and ruffians like that Vallon will get their deserts."

"In the meantime," Talon concluded with undisguised sarcasm, "you deign to accept the use of my cart and horse, my farm hand, and the passports which I obtained for you at my own risk and peril to help you to flee this country and seek safety in Belgium."

To this Charles de Marigny vouchsafed no reply. The shaft had probably gone home. He despised this man, called him at pleasure a rascal and a thief, but he was at this moment the only being in the whole land who could save him and his daughter from death and worse than death. Talon, having had his say, was now ready to go.

"We meet in happier times, my friend," he said drily, "times happier for you, I mean. When you are safe in Belgium you will, perhaps, remember to whom you owe your safety. I will administer this estate as if it were my own for good and all. The wretched brat whom you call your king may come into his kingdom some day. Personally I doubt it, or I would never have done this deal. The cart will be here at the hour I have named. Good-night! Pleasant dreams! M. l'Abbé, your servant."

He shuffled out of the room, and for some time his footsteps, gradually dying away in the distance, were the only sound that broke the stillness of the night.