"Yes. How brave, how brave! But why do your mother and sister stay in a country where such things are done?"
"Brittany is not France, as the Marquis de la Rouerie shows them."
"La Rouerie? What a hero! Mr. Barton told me all about him and the Chouannerie. It made me so glad to think that I was partly Breton too."
"That is why I have come, ma cousine. I am a follower of the Marquis."
"And you have come on some dangerous errand? Of course, I see it now. And perhaps we can help you? Is it so, Jéhan?"
"You are wonderful, Gabrielle. Yes, you can help us; or, rather, it is your brother who can do so. I will explain."
He was looking at her eagerly as they sat opposite to one another near the window. She was an angel, this beautiful English cousin who was yet kith and kin to him, and his errand would prosper.
"Yes, explain," she cried, holding out her hand impulsively, "and we will help."
So in the twilight he told his story, and neither heeded the length of the shadows or the dusk which stole grey-footed across the meadows; wrapping the peaceful landscape in its trailing shroud.
"Near the Château Kérnak," said Jéhan softly, "stands the Manor of Varenac. It was there that your uncle, our mother's brother, lived, and the peasants, his tenants, adored him. Whilst Comte Gilles lived there never could have been talk of the Terror coming to the neighbourhood. But a month ago he died. Hélas! we all mourned the good old man, and he died at a bad moment for Brittany. There have been agents from Paris around Varenac and Kérnak since, poisoning the simple minds of the villagers. The Terror, they say, means not only liberty, fraternity, and equality, but riches and soft living for the poor. Also power. It is that which appeals most. And yet the influence of Comte Gilles lives. The men of Varenac have not obeyed the voices of these agents. They wait."