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André-Louis had grown leaner than his habit in those days, and this not from any lenten fare. For however hunger might tighten its grip upon the people, there was no fasting for those who could pay—and the Baron was certainly of these.

It was the mental strain of that time of intrigue and anxious labour that had worn him; and mingled with this a yearning that seemed to gnaw his vitals, intensified by the utter absence of direct news from Aline de Kercadiou. He assured himself that it was at the dictates of prudence that she had not sent him any letter by any of the occasional messengers who passed between Monsieur d'Entragues and his Paris agent, the Chevalier de Pomelles, and he sought to content himself with the personal assurances which one or two of these had been able to give him that Mademoiselle de Kercadiou continued at Hamm with her father and that she was well.

There had been a curious passage with Langéac, met by merest chance at Pomelles's house at Bourg-Égalité. One of André-Louis's periodic visits to the royalist agent in quest of news had happened to synchronize with the arrival there of Langéac coming straight from Hamm. It was the young royalist's first visit to Paris since his flight after the miscarried affair at the Temple.

At sight of André-Louis he had visibly lost colour and his eyes had dilated, so that André-Louis had exclaimed: 'How, now, Langéac. Am I a ghost?'

'Faith! It is what I ask myself.'

It was André-Louis's turn to stare. 'Do you mean that you have supposed me dead for all these months?'

'What else was I to suppose?'

'What else? What else? Name of a name! But Verney followed you to Hamm with the news of my survival. Did you never hear of it?'

Langéac's expression was odd. He looked uncomfortable. His eyes shifted under the other's keen regard, and it was only after a long moment that he answered. 'Ah, Verney! Verney was delayed on the road ...'

'But he got there ultimately,' André-Louis interrupted him impatiently. The sluggishness of Langéac's wits had always moved him to impatience. He had never concealed from Langéac that he accounted him a fool, and Langéac had resented this with all a fool's mean bitterness.

'Oh, yes,' he answered slowly, sneering. 'He got there ultimately. But I had left by then.'

'Yet you have been there since. You are just arrived from there. Did you never hear that I survived?'

'I never heard you mentioned that I can remember,' drawled Langéac. And further to put him down, he added, 'Why should they mention you?'

Exasperated, André-Louis looked at the Chevalier de Pomelles, who sat gravely listening. 'He asks me that? I suppose they know at Hamm what keeps me here in Paris. I suppose they are aware that I risk the guillotine every day of the week in my endeavours to wreck the revolution, and bring the House of Bourbon back to France. I suppose they know it, Monsieur de Pomelles?'

'Oh, but of course they know it.' The Chevalier was emphatic. 'They know it and esteem it.'

That had happened two months ago, in September. Thereafter Monsieur de Langéac had lingered in Paris until the fall of Chabot and the popular ferment that had followed it. De Batz had thought it right that some account of this should be sent to the Regent, and with André-Louis had sought Pomelles for the purpose. Pomelles had agreed with him, and having Langéac under his hand, proposed to use him as the bearer of the news. There was at that moment in the minds of the members of the Royalist Committee in Paris some little doubt as to the Regent's precise whereabouts. Whilst there was no positive news that he had yet left Hamm, it was known that his duty lay in Toulon, where the royalists, supported by Admiral Hood with the British fleet and by some Spanish troops, were making their resolute stand. The presence amongst them of the representative of the House of Bourbon on whose behalf this stand was being made was being so urgently demanded that it was probable he would already have set out to place himself at their head. But in the absence of positive information, Langéac's instructions were that he should go to Hamm in the first instance, following the Regent thence if he should already have departed, and making his way to Toulon by sea from Leghorn or some other convenient Italian port, since by land the place was unapproachable.

As he was setting out, André-Louis came to ask of him the favour of bearing a letter to Mademoiselle de Kercadiou. It was a letter whose chief object was to beg her to send him, be it but a line in her own hand, herself to confirm the assurances he received indirectly that all was well with her and with his godfather.

Monsieur de Langéac accepted perforce the commission, and there could be little doubt that he had executed it, since it was known that, in spite of those insistent demands for the Regent's presence in Toulon, his Highness was still at Hamm when Langéac arrived there, and indeed for some time thereafter.

His lingering there was a circumstance exasperating to a good many of Monsieur's supporters, and to none more exasperating than to the Comte d'Avaray, whose affection for him was sincere, who had his honour at heart, and who was distressed to know that his neglect of it in this hour of crisis was by many being assigned to pusillanimity.

It may well be that pusillanimity and sloth played some part in that reluctance to depart from the dull security of Hamm. Monsieur d'Entragues, however, did not think so, and Monsieur d'Entragues was not happy. To him, whatever reasons there may have been to account for the Regent's inaction, it was clear that one of them was his infatuation for Mademoiselle de Kercadiou. Out of his cynical knowledge of men, Monsieur d'Entragues was persuaded that the real cure for this lay in possession. Therefore he had practised patience. But time was passing. The Regent's interests demanded his presence in Toulon. Yet if he advised this, he might miss his chance of encompassing the supplanting of Madame de Balbi, and so, of assuming a definite and abiding ascendancy over d'Avaray. Thus d'Entragues was confronted with a choice of evils, and in his heart he cursed the prudishness of Mademoiselle de Kercadiou which had made her withstand in all these months the assiduous wooing of his Highness.

What, in Heaven's name, did the girl want? Had she no sense of duty to a Prince of the Blood? It was not even as if she were restrained by any mawkish sense of duty in any other quarter, since she believed that her unspeakable plebeian lover Moreau had perished four months ago. And what the devil ailed his Highness that he should be so patient and so nice? Since Monsieur knew his own mind, why didn't he take a short way with the girl? He loved to be accounted a libertine. Why the devil couldn't he behave like one.

D'Entragues had thoughts of giving him a hint to that effect. But he hesitated. And meanwhile d'Avaray was at the Regent's elbow, pressing him with talk of honour and duty to go and encourage by his presence those who were ready to lay down their lives for him in Toulon.

Things were in this pass when Langéac arrived at Hamm with the news of the events in Paris which were shaking the credit of the Convention in the eyes of the people. He reported himself to d'Entragues, and d'Entragues carried him off to the Regent, and was the only witness to the interview in that long bare room of the châlet, where his Highness kept a diminished court, now that his brother d'Artois had departed for Russia to solicit the support of the Empress.

The morning had been an unhappy one for his Highness. D'Avaray had been more than usually insistent upon the Prince's duty in Toulon. The news brought by Langéac dissipated some of his gloom.

'It is something at last,' he approved. 'More, I confess, than ever I had expected from that Gascon braggart.'

In correcting the ungracious Prince's impression, it may be that Langéac spoke of his instructions without reflecting, or it may be that like a mean sycophant he was in haste to curry favour by discrediting the Baron.

'It is, Monseigneur, less the work of Monsieur de Batz than of Moreau.'

'Moreau?' The bulging eyes of his Highness grew round in their stare. Then, recollection returning to him, he frowned. 'Ah! Moreau? He is still alive, then?' He conveyed the impression that he was not pleased. A difficult man, thought Langéac.

'He has an uncanny gift of life, Monseigneur.'

His Highness appeared to have lost interest in the news. Shortly he thanked Monsieur de Langéac for his diligence, and dismissed him.

Monsieur d'Entragues conducted him. A lodging was prepared for him in the châlet. But this was not the cause of the Count's civility.

'Touching this man Moreau,' he said, when they were outside the Regent's room, 'it were best that you did not mention to anybody the fact that he is still alive. Reasons of State. You understand?'

'Not to anybody?' Langéac questioned. His foolish face was vacuous.

'That is what I said, sir. You will mention it to nobody.'

'But that is impossible. I have a letter from him. A letter for Mademoiselle de Kercadiou. If she is still here in Hamm ...'

He was interrupted. 'The letter changes nothing. You will give it to me. I ask for it in the name of his Highness. And you will forget that you bore it.' Under Langéac's puzzled regard, he repeated: 'Reasons of State. Grave reasons of State, which I am not at liberty to explain to you.'

There was a pause. Then Langéac shrugged, surrendered the letter, and gave the required promise. It is possible that his unfriendliness towards André-Louis may have helped to render him indifferent.

The Comte d'Entragues returned to his Highness. 'This man Moreau has written again,' he dryly announced.

'Written?' The Regent looked up at him. His eyes were dull.

'To Mademoiselle de Kercadiou. I have the letter here. We can hardly suffer it to be delivered now. It will betray the fact that there have been other letters.'

His Highness was quick to grasp the implication. 'Damn your meddling, d'Entragues. Is this all that's to come of it? If this fellow Moreau survives in the end, your suppression of his letters will be discovered. How shall we look then?'

'My shoulders will bear that burden, Monseigneur. No need to betray your Highness's part in a measure charitably intended. And, anyway, it is unlikely that he will survive. His luck cannot hold forever.'

'Ha! But if it does?'

The Count's lean, swarthy face, so deeply scored with lines despite his comparative youth, was inscrutable. The glance of his dark eyes was steady. 'Does your Highness ask me?'

'You heard me.'

'In your place, Monseigneur,' he said quietly and slowly, 'I should so have contrived by now that news of Moreau's survival, if it reached Mademoiselle de Kercadiou at all, should reach her too late to be welcome, too late to matter.'

'My God! What are you suggesting?'

'That your Highness has been too patient.'

The Regent appeared to be scandalized.

D'Entragues elaborated. 'To be patient in these matters is no mark of gallantry. Women are not flattered by it. They'll sooner forgive an excess of ardour. Lukewarm desire is a reflection on their charms.'

'Morbleu, d'Entragues! You're a villain.'

'In the service of your Highness I am whatever will serve you best. And where's the villainy? I have never known you hesitate to employ those powers which past experience must have shown your Highness that you possess over all women. Why should you hesitate to employ them now? Toulon awaits you impatiently. Yet you cannot decide to go. I perfectly understand this reluctance. What I do not understand is that you should be jeopardizing everything to this—your Highness will forgive the word—to this infatuation.'

'A thousand devils, D'Entragues!' His Highness was peevish. 'Now you talk like d'Avaray, who has presumed to preach me a sermon on my duty which lasted for over an hour.'

'I talk not at all like d'Avaray. D'Avaray does not understand your difficulties. He offers you a choice of evils. You are to be false to your duty or false to your feelings. I show you how both may be served. Set out for Toulon. But take Mademoiselle de Kercadiou with you.'

'Ah! The advice is easily given. But would she come? Would she come?'

D'Entragues's steady glance continued levelled upon the big, florid countenance of his master. The faintest of smiles, in which there was a tinge of cruelty, hovered about his thin lips. Slowly, significantly, at last, he said: 'In certain circumstances there is no doubt that she would go.'

The bulging eyes shifted to avoid the minister's glance.

'And Kercadiou?' he asked. 'What of him? Would he ...' He could not find words in which to conclude the sentence.

D'Entragues shrugged. 'Monsieur de Kercadiou has no higher sense than the sense of his duty to the blood royal. It would surprise me if he had not the same sense of the duty of his womenfolk. But if you doubt it, Monseigneur, if the presence of Monsieur de Kercadiou restrains you ...'

Into the Count's thoughtful pause flashed the Prince's swift assertion: 'It does. Damnably. What else do you suppose has restrained me? What else is responsible for this patience of mine which you presume to deplore?'

'It would be easy to remove him,' said the intriguer quietly.

He disclosed the means. Let the Regent announce his departure for Toulon, which, after all, could no longer be delayed. He would go by way of Turin and Leghorn. There was an urgent message to be sent to the Prince de Condé in Belgium, and meanwhile Monsieur de Langéac, their usual messenger, would already have been despatched elsewhere. The only other person whom the Regent could spare from attendance to bear those letters to Condé was Monsieur de Kercadiou. His niece could hardly accompany him on such a mission. She would remain in Hamm. The presence there of Kercadiou's cousin, Madame de Plougastel, would make this easy.

The Regent sat considering, his chin upon his breast. His face had lost some of its high colour. Temptation, so fiendishly presented, had him by the throat.

'And afterwards?' he asked.

The Comte d'Entragues permitted himself a cynical little laugh.

'Preventive measures may have been employed against your Highness in the past. I do not know. But has your Highness ever been troubled afterwards?'

And so it came to pass that in the afternoon, Langéac, barely rested from his journey, was riding out of Hamm again, this time charged with the arrangement of relays along the road by which his Highness was to travel in the course of the next few days. It was only after his departure that the urgent need of a courier for the Prince de Condé was discovered, and Monsieur de Kercadiou invited, in default of any other, to undertake the task. It was not for the Lord of Gavrillac to shirk a duty, whatever it might be, in the service of his Prince. His instructions were that upon the performance of his errand he was to return to Hamm, and there await the further orders of the Regent.

If Aline was anxious on her uncle's behalf, she displayed no sign of it. Anxieties on her own she had none. She would await his return in Hamm. Meanwhile, the only care she manifested was concerned with the details of his equipment for the journey.

Not only in the châlet, but among the few émigrés elsewhere in the village, there was now relief and satisfaction. At last Monsieur was to bestir himself to action and hasten to Toulon.

The only person whom the events at all disgruntled was the Comte de Plougastel. Younger than the Lord of Gavrillac by ten years, of great physical vigour and endurance, accustomed, moreover, to come and go as an ambassador of the Princes, he took it as a personal reflection upon his ability in these matters that Monsieur de Kercadiou should have been preferred to him for that mission to the camp of the Prince de Condé. He complained of it to d'Entragues.

'To be frank, I find it very odd. I am curious to know in what I have deserved Monsieur's displeasure.'

'His displeasure! My dear Plougastel! It is the very contrary. His Highness esteems you so highly that he desires you near his person in this crisis.'

Plougastel's face lightened. 'I am, then, to accompany him to Toulon?'

'That is hardly possible, however desirable to his Highness. You will understand that Monsieur's attendance on that journey must be reduced to the bare minimum.'

'But then?' Plougastel was frowning again. 'Monsieur d'Entragues, it seems to me that you contradict yourself. Monsieur does not send me on a mission of a kind in which I am experienced. He sends in my place a man who is barely equal to the fatigue of the journey. Especially in this December weather. He does this because he desires me near his person. Yet in two days' time, when he departs for Toulon, I am to be left behind.'

D'Entragues was smooth with him. 'Things often appear contradictory without being so at heart. His Highness has his own ends to serve. I can tell you no more. If you are not satisfied, you must ask Monsieur, himself.'

Plougastel departed more aggrieved than he had come, and went to plague his countess with his ill-humoured conjectures.