Madame Gaubertin came into the garden just then.  She was a rather fair woman with long curls, called English, hanging down her cheeks, who played the style of sentimental virtue, pretended never to have known love, talked platonics to all the men about her, and kept the prosecuting-attorney at her beck and call.  She was given to caps with large bows, but preferred to wear only her hair.  She danced, and at forty-five years of age had the mincing manner of a girl; her feet, however, were large and her hands frightful.  She wished to be called Isaure, because among her other oddities and absurdities she had the taste to repudiate the name of Gaubertin as vulgar.  Her eyes were light and her hair of an undecided color, something like dirty nankeen.  Such as she was, she was taken as a model by a number of young ladies, who stabbed the skies with their glances, and posed as angels.

“Well, gentlemen,” she said, bowing, “I have some strange news for you.  The gendarmerie have returned.”

“Did they make any prisoners?”

“None; the general, it seems, had previously obtained the pardon of the depredators.  It was given in honor of this happy anniversary of the king’s restoration to France.”

The three associates looked at each other.

“He is cleverer than I thought for, that big cuirassier!” said Gaubertin.  “Well, come to breakfast.  After all, the game is not lost, only postponed; it is your affair now, Rigou.”

Soudry and Rigou drove back disappointed, not being able as yet to plan any other catastrophe to serve their ends and relying, as Gaubertin advised, on what might turn up.  Like certain Jacobins at the outset of the Revolution who were furious with Louis XVI.’s conciliations, and who provoked severe measures at court in the hope of producing anarchy, which to them meant fortune and power, the formidable enemies of General Montcornet staked their present hopes on the severity which Michaud and his keepers were likely to employ against future depredators.  Gaubertin promised them his assistance, without explaining who were his co-operators, for he did not wish them to know about his relations with Sibilet.  Nothing can equal the prudence of a man of Gaubertin’s stamp, unless it be that of an ex-gendarme or an unfrocked priest.  This plot could not have been brought to a successful issue,—­a successfully evil issue,—­unless by three such men as these, steeped in hatred and self-interest.

CHAPTER V

VICTORY WITHOUT A FIGHT

Madame Michaud’s fears were the effect of that second sight which comes of true passion.  Exclusively absorbed by one only being, the soul finally grasps the whole moral world which surrounds that being; it sees clearly.  A woman when she loves feels the same presentiments which disquiet her later when a mother.

While the poor young woman listened to the confused voices coming from afar across an unknown space, a scene was really happening in the tavern of the Grand-I-Vert which threatened her husband’s life.