“That is very different,” replied the Marquise, unmoved.
“Well, the difference lies in this, that Louis has never had a dangerous illness in his life, and that this affair is—dangerous.”
“Other things,” said his mother, “are dangerous, too—for other people. It is dangerous for you to go away now, when we do not know from day to day what the Directory at Fontenay may do next, when the village is on the point of revolt against them, when——”
Château-Foix got up from the balustrade. “Yes, I know all that,” he replied gravely, “and therefore nothing but an affair of life and death could persuade me to leave at this juncture. But I must go, and to-night.”
“Well, I hope we shall not all live to regret it,” said Madame de Château-Foix. “It is perfectly scandalous that you should be dragged away like this. And does M. des Graves approve of your going, may I ask?”
“He does,” said her son. “Try not to be so unjust to Louis, ma mère! You know what an ardent Royalist he is, and you are far from disapproving of him on that score. If he chooses to play his head for the cause, as he is doing now, it may be foolish of him, but it is hardly scandalous.”
The Marquise got up and gathered together her silks. “As you like, my dear boy,” she said, with an air of resignation. “I do not want to dictate to you. Dear me, what a singular hurry M. des Graves appears to be in!”
For the priest was now hastening along the terrace walk with a newspaper in his hand. He did not speak until he was nearly at the top of the steps.
“The courier has just brought the Paris paper,” he said, a little out of breath. “There is very serious news in it. The mob has invaded the Tuileries.”
“Invaded the Tuileries!” exclaimed the Marquise with incredulous horror. “Then—— O mon Dieu!”