"Poor place indeed! I should think so. What on earth could ever have brought them here?"
"Why, you see, madame, a cousin of mine, a M. Perigord, who is employed at the Chateau de Beaujardin, sent them here to me, and asked me to do anything I could to help them; and I would give the last drop of my blood to serve my cousin Perigord, for we should all have perished long ago but for his kindness. He kept us alive all last winter, when things were so bad. Ah, madame, you great folks don't know what the poor people suffer. We had no fuel and had to lie a-bed to warm ourselves, till we were obliged to get rid even of our beds and last bits of furniture for a mouthful of bread. But my cousin heard of it and helped us. As for those who haven't got such a friend, what with crown taxes, duties, fines, tolls, and forced labour on the roads, manorial dues, seigneurial rights, and I don't know how many more heart-vexing imposts and exactions besides, there's nothing left to subsist upon; and that's hard when one hears how grandly all the great folks live, and never lift a finger to keep the poor from starving."
"But where have they gone?" inquired the lady, eagerly.
"Well, madame, I took them on to the next village, where the gentleman got a good horse, and presently rode away with his young wife on a pillion behind him. They have gone to Nantes, where a brother of my cousin Perigord keeps an inn on the Quai La Fosse."
It was not long before Madame de Valricour was closeted with de Crillon, who had by this time arrived at the convent.
"We have come too late," said she, bitterly, after describing her interviews with the curé and Greboeuf.
De Crillon shrugged his shoulders. "I presume, then," said he, "that there is nothing more to be done."
"Nothing more!" retorted the lady, impetuously. "We have all the clue we want, and you have with you the king's lettre de cachet. I care not what becomes of her, so long as she is safely placed where she will not trouble us any more; but mind, M. de Crillon, no harm is to come to my nephew."
De Crillon smiled. "Ah," said he, "I am to dispose of the young lady, so that Monsieur Isidore may come back and some day marry Mademoiselle Clotilde?"
"That was not spoken with M. de Crillon's usual acuteness," replied the baroness. "Isidore is more likely in his anger and disappointment to betake himself anywhere else than to Beaujardin, and in any case you know that he is now married, and cannot wed Clotilde."