there is born of the enthusiasm of self-denial a happiness that while the fervour lasts seems all-sufficing. the skirmish that has routed the van of jealousy stands for the battle; nor does the victor foresee that with the fall of night the enemy will flock again to the attack, and by many an insidious onset strive to change the fortune of the day.

still once to have felt the generous impulse, once to have trodden self underfoot and risen god-like above the baser thoughts, is something. and if bonne and her brother were destined to find the victory less complete than they thought, if they were to know moments when the worst in them raised its head, they were but as the best of us. and again--a reflection somewhat more humorous--had these two been able to read the mind of the man of whom each was thinking, they had met with so curious an enlightenment that they had hardly been able to look at one another. to say that des ageaux entertained no tender feeling for any one were to say more than the truth; for during the last few days a weakness had crept unwelcome and unbidden into his heart. but he kept it sternly in the background--he who had naught to do with such things--and it did not tend in the direction of the countess. in point of fact the lieutenant had other and more serious food for thought; other and more pressing anxieties than love. forty-eight hours had disclosed the weakness of the position in which he had chosen to place himself. he foresaw, if not the certainty, the probability of defeat. and defeat in the situation he had taken up might be attended by hideous consequences.

these were not slow to cast their shadows. the two on the hill had not sat long in silent companionship before the sounds which rose from the camp began to take a sterner note. roger was the first to mark the change. rousing himself and shaking off his lugubrious mood, "what is that?" the lad asked. "do you hear, bonne? it sounds like trouble somewhere."

"trouble?" she repeated, still half in dreams.

"yes, by jove, but--listen! and what has become"--he was on his feet by this time--"of the bat's ragged regiment? they have vanished."

"they must be behind the tree," bonne answered. and moved by the same impulse they walked a little aside along the slope until they could see the section of the camp immediately below them, which had been hidden hitherto by the branches of the great plane-tree.

the little group which bonne had left when her feelings compelled her to flight remained in the same place. but all who formed it, the vicomte and his eldest daughter as well as des ageaux and the countess, were now on their feet. the vicomte and the ladies stood together in the background, while des ageaux, who had placed himself before them, confronted an excited body of men, some hundred in number, and composed in part at least of those whom the bat had been lately drilling. whether these had broken from his control and gathered their fellows as they moved, or the impulse had come from outside and they were but recruits, their presence rendered the movement more formidable. they were not indeed of so low and savage a type as the creatures who had met des ageaux in the gate the previous day, but viewed in this serried mass, their lowering brutish faces and clenched hands called up a vivid sense of danger. they must have made some outcry as they approached, or roger had not noticed their assemblage. but now they were fallen silent. a grim mass of scowling, hard-breathing men, then small suspicious eyes glaring through tangled locks irresistibly reminded the observer of that quarry the most dangerous of all the beasts of chase, the wild boar.

bonne's colour faded as her eyes took in the meaning of the scene. she grew still paler as her brain pictured for the first time the things that might happen in this camp of clowns of whose real sentiments the intruders had so little knowledge, at whose possible treachery it was so easy to guess. time has not wiped, time never will wipe from the french memory the fear of a jacquerie. the horrors of that hideous revolt, of its rise and its suppression are stamped on the minds of the unborn. "what is it?" she repeated more than once, her heart fluttering. how very, very near he stood--on whom all depended--to the line of scowling men!

"a mutiny, i fear!" roger answered hastily. "come!" and, with face slightly flushed, he hurried, running and sliding down the slope.

she was not three paces behind him when he reached the foot. here they lost sight of the scene, but quickly passed between two huts and reached the vicomte's side. des ageaux was speaking.

"i cannot give you the man," he was saying, "but i can give you justice."

"justice?" the spokesman of the peasants retorted bitterly--he wore the dress of a smith, and belonged to that craft. "who ever heard but of one sort of justice for the poor man? justice, sir governor, is the poor man's right to be hung! the poor man's right to be scourged! the poor man's right to be broken on the wheel! to see his hut burned and his wife borne off! that is the justice"--rudely--"the poor man gets-- be it high or low, king's or lord's!"

"ay, ay!" the stern chorus rose from a hundred throats behind him, "that is the poor man's justice!"

"it is to put an end to such things i am here!" des ageaux replied, marking with a watchful eye the faces before him. he was far from easy, but he had handled men of their kind before, and thought that he knew them.

"there was never a beginning of such things, and there will never be an end!" the smith returned, the hopelessness of a thousand years of wrong in his words. "never! but give us this man--he has done all these things, he and his master, and we will believe you."

"i cannot give him to you," des ageaux answered. the same prisoner, one of vlaye's followers, was in question whom the old crocans had yesterday required to be given up to them. "but i have told you and i tell you again," the lieutenant continued, reading mischief in the men's faces, "that you shall have justice. if this man has wronged you and you can prove it----"

"if!" the peasant cried, and baring his right arm he raised his clenched fist to heaven.

but the lieutenant went on as if the man had not spoken. "if you can prove these things upon him by witnesses here present----"

"you will give him to us?"

"no, i will not do that!"

"you will give him to us!" the smith repeated, refusing to hear the denial. and all along the line of scowling faces--the line that wavered ominously at moments of emotion as if it would break about the little group--ran a swift gleam of white teeth.

but des ageaux did not blench. he raised his hand for silence, and his voice was steady as a rock as he made answer. "no," he said, "i will not give him to you. he belongs neither to me nor to you, but to god and the king, whose is justice."

"to god!" the other snarled, "whose is justice! rather, whose servants hold the lamb that the devils may flay it! and for the king, sir governor, a fig for him! our own hands are worth a dozen kings!"

"stay!" the line was swaying; in the nick of time des ageaux' voice, and perhaps something in his eye, stayed it. "listen to me one moment," he continued. "to-morrow morning--for i have not time to-day--the man you accuse shall be tried. if he be guilty, before noon he shall die. if he be not guilty, he shall go!"

a murmur of protest.

but des ageaux raised his head higher and spoke more sternly. "he shall go!" he repeated--and for the moment he mastered them. "if he be innocent he shall go! what more do you claim? to what beyond have you a right? and now," he continued, as he saw them pause angry but undecided, "for yourselves! i have told you, i tell you again that this is your last chance. that i and the offer i make you are your last hope! there is a man there"--with his forefinger he singled out a tall youth with a long, narrow face and light blue eyes--"who promises that when you are attacked he will wave his arm, and vlaye and his riders will fall on their faces as fell the walls of jericho! do you believe him? will you trust your wives and children to him? and another"--again he singled out a man, a beetle-browed dwarf, hideous of aspect, survivor of some ancient race--"who promises victory if you will sacrifice your captives on yonder stone! do you believe him? and if you do not trust these, in what do you trust? can naked men stand before mailed horses? can you take castles with your bare hands? you have left your villages, you have slain your oxen, you have burned your tools, you have slain your lords' men, you have taken the field. have peasants ever done these things--and not perished sooner or later on gibbets and in dungeons? and such will be your fate, and the fate of your women and your children, if you will go your way and will not listen!"

"what do you promise us?" the question in various forms broke from a dozen throats.

"first, justice on the chief of your oppressors."

"the captain of vlaye?"

"the same."

"ay, ay!" their harsh cries marked approval. some with dark looks spat on their hands and worked their right arms to and fro.

"next," des ageaux continued, "that which never peasant who took the field had yet--pardon for the past. to those who fear not to go back, leave to return to their homes. to those who have broken their lords' laws a settlement elsewhere with their wives and children. to every man of his hands, when he leaves, ten deniers out of the spoils of vlaye to carry him to his home."

nine out of ten marked their approval by a shout; and des ageaux heaved a sigh of relief, thinking all well. but the smith turned and exchanged some words with the men nearest him, chiding them and reminding them of something. then he turned again.

"fine words! but for all this what pledge, sir governor?" he asked with a sneer. "what warranty that when we have done our part we shall not to gibbet or gallows like our fellows?"

"the king's word!"

"ay? and hostages? what hostages?"

"hostages?" the lieutenant's voice rang sharp with anger.

"ay, hostages!" the man answered sturdily, informed by the murmurs of his fellows that he had got them back into the road from which des ageaux' arguments had led them. "we must have hostages."

clearly they had made up their minds to this, they had determined on it beforehand. for with one voice, "we must have hostages!" they thundered.

des ageaux paused before he answered--paused in dismay. it looked as if--already he feared it--he had put out his hand too far. as if he had trusted too implicitly to his management of men, and risked not himself only, but women; women of the class to which these human beasts set down their wrongs, women on whom the least accident or provocation might lead them to wreak their vengeance! if it were so! but he dared not follow up the thought, lest the coolness on which all depended should leave him. instead, "we are all your hostages," he said.

"and what of those? and those?" the smith answered. with a cunning look he pointed to the two knots of troopers whom des ageaux had brought with him. "and by-and-by there will be more. madame"--he pointed to the little countess who had shrunk to bonne's side, and stood with the elder girl's arm about her--"madame has sent for fifty riders from her lands in the north--on, we know! and the duke who is ill, for another hundred and fifty from bergerac! when they come"--with a leer--"where will be our hostages? no, it is now we must talk, sir governor, or not at all."

des ageaux, his cheek flushed, reflected amid an uneasy silence. he knew that two of his riders were away bearing letters, and that four more were patrolling the valley; that two with charles de villeneuve were isolated on the ridge, unable to help; in a word, that no more than twelve or thirteen were within call, who, separated from their horses, were no match for a mob of men outnumbering them by five or six to one, and whom the first blow would recruit from every quarter of the seething camp. he had miscalculated, and saw it. he had miscalculated, and the consequences he dare not weigh. the men in whose power he had placed himself--and so much more than himself--were not the dull clods he had deemed them, but alike ferocious and suspicious, ready on the first hint of treachery to exact a fearful vengeance. no man had ever kept faith with them; why should they believe that he would keep faith? he shut his teeth hard. "i will consider the matter," he said, "and let you know my answer to-morrow at noon." he spoke as ending the conference, and he made as if he would turn on his heel.

"ay, when madame's fifty spears are come?" the smith cried. "that will not do! if you mean us well give us hostages. if you mean us ill," taking one step forward with an insolent gesture----

"fool, i mean you no ill!" the lieutenant answered sternly. "if i meant you ill, why should i be here?"

but "hostages! hostages!" the crowd answered, raising weapons and fists.

their cries drowned his words. a score of hands threatened him. without looking, he felt that the bat and his troopers, a little clump apart, were preparing to intervene, and he knew that on his next movement all depended. the pale faces behind him he could not see, for he was aware that if his eye left his opponents, they would fall upon him. at any second a hurried gesture, or the least sign of fear might unloose the torrent, and well was it for all that in many a like scene his nerve had been tempered to hardness. he shrugged his shoulders.

"well," he said, "you shall have your hostages."

"ay, ay!" a sudden relaxation, a falling back into quietude of the seething mass approved the consent.

"you shall have my lieutenant," he continued, "and----"

"and i will be the other," cried roger manfully. he stepped forward. "i am the son of m. le vicomte there! i will be your hostage," he repeated.

but the smith, turning to his followers, grinned. "we'd be little the better for them," he said. "eh? no, sir governor! we must have our choice!"

"your choice, rogues?"

"ay, we'll have the pick!" the crowd shouted. "the best of the basket!" amid ferocious laughter.

des ageaux had suspected for some hours past that he had done a foolish, a fatally foolish thing in trusting these men, whom no man had ever trusted. he saw now that only two courses stood open to him. he might strike the smith down at his feet, and risk all on the effect which the act might have on his followers; or he might yield what they asked, allow them to choose their hostages, and trust to time and skill for the rest. his instincts were all for the bolder course, but he had women behind him, and their chance in a conflict so unequal must be desperate. with a quietness and firmness characteristic of the man he accepted his defeat.

"very well," he said. "it matters nothing. whom will you have?"

"we'll have you," the smith replied grinning, "and her!" with a grimy hand he pointed to the little countess who with bonne's arm about her and fulbert at her elbow was staring fascinated at the line of savage faces.

"you cannot have a lady!" the lieutenant answered with a chill at his heart.

"ay, but it is she who has the riders who are coming!" the smith retorted shrewdly. "it is her we want and it is her we'll have! we'll do her no harm, and she may have her own hut on our side, and her woman with her, and a man if she pleases. and you may have a hut beside hers, if one," with a wink, "won't do for the two."

"but, man," des ageaux cried, his brow dark, "how can i take vlaye and his castle while i lie a hostage?"

"oh, you shall go to and fro, to and fro, sir governor!" the smith answered lightly. "we'll not be too strict if you are there of nights. and we will know ourselves safe. and as we live by bread," he continued stoutly, "we'll do her no harm if faith be kept with us!"

des ageaux endeavoured to hide his emotion, but the sweat stood on his brow. defeat is bitter to all. to the man who has long been successful most bitter.

suddenly, "i will go!" said the countess bravely. and she stepped forward by the lieutenant's side, a little figure, shrinking, yet resolute. "i will go," she repeated, trembling with excitement, yet facing the men.

"no!" roger cried--and then was silent. it was not for him to speak. what could he do?

"we will all go!" bonne said.

"nay, but that will not do," the smith replied, with a sly grimace. "for then they"--he pointed to the little knot of troopers who waited with sullen faces a short arrow-shot away--"would be coming as well. the lady may bring a woman if she pleases, and her man there, as i said." he nodded towards fulbert. "but no more, or we are no gainers!"

to the lieutenant that moment was one of the bitterest of his life. he, the king's governor, who had acted as master, who had forced the vicomte and his party to come into his plans, whether they would or no, stood out-generalled by a mob of peasants, whom he had thought to use as tools! and not only that, but the young countess, whose safety he had made the pretext for the abandonment of the chateau, must surrender herself to a risk more serious--ay, far more serious, than that from which he had made this ado to save her!

humiliation could scarcely go farther. it was to his credit, it was perhaps some proof of his capacity for government that, seeing the thing inevitable, he refrained from useless words or protest, and sternly agreed. he and the countess would remove to the farther side of the camp in the course of the day.

"with a man and a maid only?" the smith persisted, knitting his brows. having got what he had asked he doubted.

"the countess of rochechouart will be so attended," the lieutenant answered sternly. "and you, sir governor?"

"i am a soldier," he retorted, so curtly that they were abashed. with some muttering they began to melt away. awhile they stood in groups, discussing the matter. then gradually they retired across the rivulet to their quarters.

the lieutenant had been almost happy had that ended it. but he had to face those whom he had led into this trap, those whom he had forced to trust him, those whom he had carried from their home. he was not long in learning their views.

"a soldier!" the vicomte repeated, taking up his last word in a voice shaking with passion. "you call yourself a soldier and you bring us to this! to this!" with loathing he described the outline of the camp with his staff. "you a soldier, and cast women to these devils! pah! since coutras there may be such soldiers! but in my time, no!"

he did not reply: and the abbess took up the tale. "excellent!" she said, with bitterest irony. "we are all now assured of your prudence and sagacity, sir! the safety and freedom which we enjoy here, the ease of mind which the countess will doubtless enjoy tonight----"

"do not frighten her, mademoiselle!" he said, repressing himself. then, as if an impulse moved him, he turned slowly to bonne. "have you nothing to add, mademoiselle?" he asked, in a peculiar tone.

"nothing!" she answered bravely. and then--it needed some courage to speak before her father and sister, "were i in the countess's place i should not fear. i am sure she will be safe with you."

"safe!" odette cried, her eyes flashing. in the excitement of the moment the plans she had so recently made were forgotten. "ay, as safe as a lamb among wolves! as safe as a nun among robbers! so safe that i for one am for leaving this moment. ay, for leaving, and now!" she continued, stamping her foot on the sward "what is it to us if this gentleman, who calls himself the governor of périgord--and may be such, i care not whether he is or not--has a quarrel with m. de vlaye and would fain use us in it as he uses these brute beasts? what, i say, is it to us? or why do we take part? m. le vicomte"--she turned to her father--"if you are still master of villeneuve, you will order our horses and take us thither. we have naught to fear, i say it again, we have naught to fear at m. de vlaye's hands; and if we fall into them between this and villeneuve, so much the better! but if we stay here we have all to fear." in truth she was honestly frightened. she thought the case desperate.

"mademoiselle----"

"no, sir!" she retorted, turning from him. "i did not speak to you; but to you, m. le vicomte! sir, you hear me? is it not your will that we order the horses and go from here?"

"if we can go safely----"

"you cannot go safely!" des ageaux said, with returning decision. "if you have nothing to fear from the captain of vlaye, the countess has. nor is that all. these men"--he pointed in the direction of the peasants, who were buzzing about their huts like a swarm of bees--"have forced my hand, but through fear and distrust, not in malice. they mean us no harm if we mean them none. but the old crocans, as they call themselves, in the town on the hill--if you fall into their hands, m. le vicomte--and beyond the lines of this camp no one is safe from their prowling bands--then indeed god help you!"

"god help us whether or no!" the vicomte answered in senile anger. "i wash my hands of it all, of it all! i am nothing here, and have been nothing! let who will do! the world is mad!"

"certainly we were mad when we trusted you!" the abbess cried, addressing des ageaux. "never so mad! but if i mistake not, here is another with good news! oh!" to the bat, who, with a shamefaced air, was hovering on the skirts of the group, as if he were not sure of his reception, "speak, sir, without reserve! we all know"--in a tone of mockery--"how fair and safely we stand!"

des ageaux turned to his follower. "what is it?" he asked.

"the prisoner is missing, my lord." the abbess laughed bitterly. the others looked at the bat with faces of dismay. "missing? the man we have promised to hold for them. how?" des ageaux exclaimed sternly. this was a fresh blow and a serious one.

"when i saw, my lord, that we were like to be in trouble here, i drew off the two men who were guarding him. he was bound, and--we had too few as it was."

"but he cannot have passed the ramparts."

"anyway we cannot find him," the bat answered, looking ashamed and uncomfortable. "i've searched the huts, and----"

"is it known?"

"no, my lord."

"then set the guards as before over the hut in which you had him, and see that the matter does not leak out to-night."

"but if," the bat objected, "they discover that he is gone while you are with them to-night, my lord, they are in an ugly mood, and----"

"they must not discover it!" des ageaux answered firmly. "go, see to it yourself. and let two men whom you can trust continue the search, but as if they had lost something of their own."

the bat went on his errand; and the abbess, with this fresh weapon in her quiver, prepared to resume the debate. but the lieutenant would not have it. "mademoiselle," he said, with a look which silenced her, "if you say more to alarm the countess, whose courage"--he bowed in the direction of the pale frightened girl--"is an example to us all, she will not dare to go this evening. and if she does not go, the lives of all will be in danger. an end of this, if you please!"

and he turned on his heel, and left them.