“Pray to what time do you refer, monsieur? You know our sex are always accounted curious, so I suppose I am like all the rest.”
“If all were like you, mademoiselle,” said Monsieur Gramont, with a flattering smile, “this would be a dangerous world for our sex; but the period I refer to was shortly after the taking of Lyons, when Collet d’Herbois, Fouché, and Montait had formed a military commission there.”
“Ah! mon Dieu!” exclaimed Julia Plessis, with a start of horror.
And Mabel’s cheek turned deadly pale, whilst Lieutenant Thornton gazed, with a frown on his brow, at the unconcerned features of the Frenchman.
“Mon Dieu! were you there with those wretches?”
“I was a lieutenant in the Chasseurs, mademoiselle, and doing my duty under the orders of General Ronsin. I had no share in the horrors there committed; those men have since received a merited doom for their atrocities; but I was struck at the time, mademoiselle, by the noble devotion of your father and family in the cause of the beautiful and then unfortunate Duchesse de Coulancourt.”
Mabel felt intensely uneasy, for as she raised her eyes, she thought, or she fancied, the eyes of Monsieur Gramont rested upon her with a peculiar look. In a low voice she said to Lieutenant Thornton—
“Let us go back to the château.”
“Well, Monsieur Gramont,” cried our hero, “we will not interrupt you in your sport; there are some clouds overhead, and a fine breeze curls the surface of yonder deep pool, both prognostics in your favour.”
The two maidens saluted the Frenchman, who remained uncovered until they turned to depart, and then he said—