"No; bring him to my house. He shall be attended to there. He—he may be a gentleman, and the corps-de-garde are rough. We will attend to him. Now bid the coachman drive on, and follow at once; do not lag with him, or you shall be punished."
Slowly the carriage proceeded, therefore, into Rambouillet, and Madame la Baronne de Louvigny, lying back in it, white to her lips, pondered over the face that a few minutes before had been turned up to her gaze.
"Alive," she said to herself. "De Vannes, and alive! And in my power; another half hour and he will be in my house. So—he was not lost in the galley that those vile English sunk! And Raoul is no nearer to the wealth he needs than ever—no nearer. And, my God! the man lives who called me 'wanton' in the road that night, the man whom I tried to slay, the man through whom came my exposure. And in my house! In my house!" And she laughed to herself and showed her teeth again. Then she muttered to herself: "But for how long! Oh, that Raoul was here to advise with!"
Late that night St. Georges opened his eyes and glanced around him, wondering where he was and endeavouring to recall what had befallen him. Yet, at first, no recollection came; he could not recall any of the events of the day—nothing. All was a blank. He had sufficient sensibility, however—a sensibility that momentarily increased—to be able to notice his surroundings and to observe that he lay in a large-capacious bed in a commodious room, well furnished and hung with handsome tapestry representing hunting scenes; also that at the further end of the room by a hugh fireplace—now, of course, empty—there stood a lamp with, by it, a deep chair in which a female figure sat sleeping—a female whose dress betokened her a waiting maid.
"Where am I?" he asked feebly, trying to send his voice to where she sat. "And why am I here?"
The woman arose and came toward the bed and stood beside him; then she said:
"You were found lying in the road outside the town."
"What town?"
"Rambouillet."