"Ah, Toto," he murmured, "keep thou close to heel. This is our greatest adventure. I would we were out of it. Ah, the château!" He ran across the flowerbeds, and with long leaps up the steps, and sounded a strong summons on the knocker of the great door. A servant opened it. "Where is the marquis?" What the man said he did not wait to hear. The lofty hall was dark, but the principal staircase was lighted faintly from above. Without a word, François hurried past the servant and up the stairs. From the broad landing he saw beyond him a lighted drawing-room, and heard the notes of a violoncello. There was the woman, pale and beautiful, in black, her face upturned, the boy holding before her a sheet of music. The human richness of the cello's tones sounded through the great chamber. Where had he seen the like? Ah, that picture in the vestry of Notre Dame—the face of St. Cecilia! He had a moment of intense joy at having come. Till then he had doubted if it were wise. As he stood, the marquis came toward him quickly from the side of the room, and two gentlemen left a card-table and started up.
François went in at once, meeting the marquis within the room. The music ceased; the woman cried, "Mon Dieu!" Every one stared at this strange figure.
"What is it, my man? Venire St. Gris! 't is my thief! This way," and he led him aside into a little room, while the rest, silent and troubled, looked after them.
"Monsieur, to waste no words, these cursed peasants are on their way to do here what mischief the devil knows. It is you they want. There is a fool, one Despard, who leads them. But, Dieu! there is small time to think."
François, breathless, panting, stood looking about him, now as always observant, and curious as to this wonderful room and this impassive gentleman. Toto, as well blown as his master, recognizing the value of a soft rug, dropped, head on legs, meaning to have at least the minute's luxury and rest.
The marquis stood still in thought a moment. "I am greatly obliged to you; and this is twice—twice. I expected trouble, but not so soon. Come this way."
François followed. Toto kept one eye on him, and slept with the other. As they reëntered the great salon, the two gentlemen and Mme. Renée, all visibly agitated, came to meet them. "What is it?" they asked. The marquis forestalled further inquiry.
"My daughter, our kindly peasants will be here in an hour—no, half an hour, or less. Resistance is useless. To fly is to confess the need to fly; it is not to my taste. You gentlemen are better out of this. Go at once—at once!"
"Yes, go!" said madame. "You cannot help us, and can only make bad worse."
They wasted no time, and few words passed. The little drama played itself quickly.