Ange turned deadly pale, Réné flushed to the roots of his hair, Madame bit her lip, and Charles Leroux, who was listening at the door, took note of the bitter words, and next time he was angry with his brother flung them at him tauntingly. Mathieu neither forgot nor forgave them. After forty years his resentment still festered, and was to break at last into an open poison.
His trip to Paris had furnished him with the names and style of patriots whose measures could be trusted not to err on the side of leniency, and to one of these he wrote a hot denunciation of Ange Desaix and Aline Dangeau, whom he accused of being enemies to the Republic, and traitors to Liberty, inasmuch as they had assisted proscribed persons to emigrate. No greater crime existed. The denunciation did its work, and in a trice down came Commissioner Brutus Carré to set up his tribunal amongst the frightened villagers, and institute a little terror within the Terror at quiet Rancy-les-Bois.
The village buzzed like a startled hive, women bent white faces over their household tasks, men shuffled embarrassed feet at the inn, glancing suspiciously at one another, and all avoiding Mathieu's hard black eyes. At the white house Commissioner Brutus Carré occupied Mlle Marthe's sunny room, whilst Ange and Aline sat under lock and key, and heard wild oaths and viler songs defile the peaceful precincts.
Up at the mill, Madelon lay abed with her newborn son at her breast. Strange how the softness and the warmth of him stirred her heart, braced it, and gave her a courage which amazed Jean Jacques. She lay, a little pale, but quite composed, and fixed her round brown eyes upon her father's scowling face. In the background Jean Jacques stood stolidly. He was quite ready to strangle Mathieu with those strong hands of his, but had sufficient wit to realise that such a proceeding would probably not help Madelon.
"They were here!" vociferated Mathieu loudly. "You took them in, you concealed them, you helped them to get away. You thought you had cheated me finely, you and that oaf who stands there; and you thought me a good, easy man, one who would cover your fault because you were his daughter. I tell you I am a patriot, I! If my daughter betrays the Republic shall I shield her? I say no, a thousand times no!"
Madelon's clear gaze never wavered. Her arm held her baby tight, and if her heart beat heavily no one heard it except the child, who whimpered a little and put groping hands against her breast.
"Then you mean to denounce me?" she said quite low.
"Denounce you! Yes, you 're no daughter of mine! Every one shall know that you are a traitress."
"And my baby?" asked Madelon.
Leroux cursed it aloud, and the child, frightened by the harsh voice, burst into a lusty wailing that took all its mother's tender hushing to still.