"This Paris," said she, "is a wicked place, full of snares and pitfalls for young and old. Rest content where you are, my son, and be not eager to rush into temptation. I think not so much of bodily peril as of danger to the soul."
"Albert is a gentleman," said my father, "and the son of a gentleman: he will do nothing dishonourable."
Perhaps after all I should never have left home, but for an incident which happened a few days after Belloc's departure. One evening I had wandered across the meadows skirting the river, and, busy with my thoughts, had unconsciously strayed into the private grounds at Vançey. The voices of men in earnest conversation broke my dream, and I found myself at the back of a pleasant arbour.
"It is far too risky," said one. "Let De Retz find his tools elsewhere. If the plot fails——"
"Pshaw!" exclaimed another, "it can't fail. I tell you De Retz has spread his net so carefully that we are certain to land the big fish."
Unwilling to pry into other people's secrets, I was turning back when the speakers, hearing the noise, rushed from the arbour, with their swords half drawn. One was the owner of the chateau: the other my cousin Henri.
"What beggar's brat is this?" cried Maubranne. "Off to your kennel, you rascal, and stay there till I send my servants to whip you."
"Why, 'tis my cousin," said Henri, in surprise.
"How came you here, Albert? These are private grounds."
"Yes," I answered bitterly, "and once they belonged to your grandfather and mine."