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There is nothing like a village or a small provincial town for disseminating news. Within a few hours of its occurrence it was known all over Choisy that a dastardly outrage had been committed on the person of the much-beloved and highly respected citizen, Dr. Pradel, by the ci-devant Marquis de la Rodière up at the château. Some of these rumours went even so far as to assert that it was a case of murder: this, however, was later on automatically contradicted, when Dr. Pradel was seen crossing the Grand' Place, looking pale and severe but certainly not dead.

When and how the rumour originated nobody knew but by evening it was all over the place and the principal subject of conversation at street corners and in the cafés. Even the tragic event of the day before was relegated to the background while various versions of the story, more or less contradictory, went from mouth to mouth. Louis Maurin was one of the first to hear of it, and it made him very angry indeed. His aide-ménage, Henri, related to a crony afterwards that the citizen lawyer had had two visits from a seedy-looking individual, who often came to the office on business but whom he, Henri, didn't know by name. It was during this man's second visit that the citizen lawyer had flown into a rage. Henri had been quite frightened, and though he was not the least inquisitive by nature, he could not help overhearing what went on in the office.

"You consummate fool..." he heard his employer say.

And: "You told me to spread any rumours that were derogatory to him..."

Then again: "This is not derogatory, you idiot ... it will just make a hero of him..."

All of which was very mysterious, as the crony was bound to admit. What a pity that the worthy aide-ménage could not hear more. It seems that the seedy-looking individual went away soon afterwards, looking very down in the mouth.

No wonder that Louis Maurin was furious. Everything he had planned recently for his wooing of Blanche Levet seemed to be going wrong. To spread rumours that were derogatory to Pradel's moral character was one thing. Blanche would be sure to hear of it, so would old Levet, and there was a good chance that the doctor would, in consequence, be forbidden the house. But to represent the man as the victim of aristocratic brutality and arrogance, to give, in fact, the whole incident a political significance, was to excite any young girl's imagination in favour of what she would call a martyr to his convictions. For that is the turn which rumour had now taken. Docteur Pradel, so said the gossips, had professed liberal views: the ci-devants up at the château, enraged at the execution of Louis Capet, had lost all sense of restraint, and had vented their fury on the first victim who came to their hand. In the cafés and at street corners there was talk among the hot-headed youths of Choisy to go up to La Rodière in a body and extract vengeance from those insolent aristos for the outrage committed on a respected member of the community. If this project was put into execution Simon Pradel would, of course, at once become the most important personage in Choisy. He would be elected mayor without doubt, even perhaps member of the Convention; a second Danton or Robespierre, there was no knowing. In spite of the cold on this frosty January evening, Maurin perspired profusely at the prospect of seeing Blanche dazzled by the doctor's glory, and old Levet thinking it prudent perhaps to have such a progressive politician for his son-in-law.

The thought was maddening. Maurin didn't feel that he could endure it in solitude with only that fool of an aide-ménage for company. He saw the rosy future which he had mapped out for himself turning to darkly gathering clouds. It was now seven o'clock. The Levets would be at supper. He, Maurin, had every excuse for calling on them to enquire after their health after the trying ordeals of the past twenty-four hours, and to offer his services in connection with the funeral arrangements which could no longer be delayed.

Well wrapped up in a cosy mantle, the lawyer sallied forth. The Levets were at supper when he arrived. He was quite observant enough to note at once that there was an element of disturbance in the family circle. Blanche had evidently been crying: her eyes were heavy, and her cheeks aflame. She had pushed aside her plate of soup untasted. Augustin, serene and detached as usual, with his breviary propped up against a glass in front of him, was quietly finishing his, whilst Charles Levet's expression of face was inscrutable. Maurin had a shrewd suspicion, however, of what went on in the old royalist's mind. Pradel, in a sense, was his friend, and he was probably shocked at the story of the outrage, but deep down in his heart, the herbalist had kept a feeling of loyalty not only to his King, but to the seigneur. He had been born and bred in this loyalty, and in the belief that a seigneur, an aristocrat who was the prop and mainstay of the throne could do no wrong, or if he did, there was certainly a reason and an explanation for his misdoing. Augustin would look upon the outrage as the will of God, or a visitation of the devil, and would pray humbly and earnestly that Monsieur le Marquis de la Rodière be forgiven for his outburst of temper. Only Blanche would be indignant. Maurin's egoism merely attributed this to casual interest in a friend, the thought that the girl was seriously in love with the doctor, he dismissed as disturbing and certainly unlikely.

He had always prided himself on his tact. It was only his tact, so he believed, that enabled him ever to enter this house as a welcome guest, even though his political views were as abhorrent to old Levet as the plague. He entered the room now with hand outstretched and an air of debonnaire geniality, coupled with the solemnity due to a house wherein its mistress lay dead. He was asked to sit down and was offered a glass of wine. He talked of funeral arrangements, and volunteered to take upon himself all the trouble connected with legal formalities; he asked after everyone's health, professed to be the bearer of official apologies for the family's arrest and detention, and apparently was not aware that his volubility was countered by silence on the part of his three listeners. Blanche still looked very distressed, in fact, she seemed to have the greatest difficulty in restraining her tears. Maurin was on the point of broaching the subject of Pradel, when there was a ring at the bell.

"That'll be the citizen doctor," Marie remarked, and went waddling off like a duck to open the door.

"I'll see him outside," old Levet said, as he rose from the table. "Come, Augustin!" he called to his son.

To Maurin, who had been watching Blanche keenly, it seemed as if it had been at a sign from her that her father had called to Augustin and with him had gone out of the room. A moment or two later he could hear two of the men talking together in the passage, after which all three went into the sitting-room. There was no mistaking the expression in the girl's face now. It was all eagerness and excitement, and in her eyes there was just that look which only comes in a woman's eyes when the man she loves is near. Maurin cursed himself for his lack of judgement. He should have guessed which way the land lay and played his cards differently. It was not by involving Pradel in political imbroglios that he would succeed in turning Blanche against him. There were other means by which the budding love of a young and inexperienced girl could be changed first to pique and thence perhaps to hatred. And pique would surely throw Blanche into the arms of the man who knew how to play his cards well, that man, of course, being himself. Fortunately Louis Maurin did, in his own estimation, hold the trump card now, and he made up his mind to play it at once. He nodded in the direction whence the sound of men talking came as a faint and confused murmur, and said blandly:

"Our young friend in there has got over his trouble of this morning quite quickly. He —— "

"Don't speak of that outrage, Louis," Blanche broke in vehemently; "I can't bear it."

"My dear," he retorted suavely, "I was only going to say, that, like most men who are in love, he seems willing to endure both physical and moral humiliation, for the sake of the short glimpses he has of the lady of his choice. I don't blame him. We are all of us like that, you know, all of us who know what love is. I would endure anything for your sake, Blanche ... even blows."

"And now you are talking nonsense," the girl rejoined dryly. "There was no question of love in the unprovoked insult which that abominable aristo put upon Simon."

The lawyer gave a light shrug and echoed with something of a sneer:

"Unprovoked? My dear Blanche!"

"Certainly it was unprovoked. Simon had been sitting up with a sick man all night. He was returning home in the small hours of the morning when that devil of a Marquis, coward as well as bully, fell on him from behind and knocked him senseless before he could defend himself."

Maurin gave a superior little smile.

"A very pretty story, my dear. May I ask from whom you had it?"

"Everyone in Choisy will tell you the same. Every detail is known —— "

"No, dear, not every detail; nor will everyone in Choisy tell the pretty tale, for there is a man who stood by while the whole episode was going on, and who saw everything from the beginning."

"Some liar, I suppose," she retorted.

"No, not a liar. A man of integrity, of position, an official, in fact."

"And what did he tell you?"

Maurin smiled once more. Imperceptibly this time. Blanche plied him with questions. She wanted to know. She did not, as older women would have done, refuse to hear another word that might prove derogatory to the man she loved.

"Simon Pradel, my dear Blanche, was discovered by François de la Rodière making love to his sister, in the early dawn ... after a night spent at the château, but not with a sick man. He was, in fact, kneeling at Mademoiselle's feet, kissing her hand in farewell. No wonder the ci-devant lost his temper."

"It's not true!" the girl cried, hot with indignation.

"I pledge you my word that it is," the lawyer responded calmly.

Already Blanche had jumped to her feet. She went to the door, threw it open, and pointed to it with a dramatic gesture.

"Out of the house, Citizen Louis Maurin," she said, speaking as calmly as he had done, "and never dare set foot into it again. You are a liar and a traducer and I hate you worse than anyone I have ever known in all my life."

She remained standing by the door, a forbidding, almost tragic figure. Maurin remained for a time where he was, his eyes fixed upon her, pondering within himself what he should do. The girl's sudden revulsion had struck him with dismay. It was so unexpected. Once again Fate, or a false move on his part perhaps, had upset all his plans.

For the moment, however, there was nothing for him to do but to obey. He rose slowly, picked up his hat and coat and went to the door. Striding past the girl he made her a low bow. As soon as he had gone through the door she slammed it to behind him.