After the customary polite inquiries for the Marquise de Chargeboeuf and other matters really uninteresting but about which politeness assumes that we are keenly interested, it dawned on Monsieur d’Hauteserre that the old gentleman had come to warn his young relatives against imprudence.  He remarked that times were changed and no one could tell what the Emperor might now become.

“Oh!” said Laurence, “he’ll make himself God.”

The Marquis spoke of the wisdom of concession.  When he stated, with more emphasis and authority than he put into his other remarks, the necessity of submission, Monsieur d’Hauteserre looked at his sons with an almost supplicating air.

“Would you serve that man?” asked the Marquis de Simeuse.

“Yes, I would, if the interests of my family required it,” replied Monsieur de Chargeboeuf.

Gradually the old man made them aware, though vaguely, of some threatened danger.  When Laurence begged him to explain the nature of it, he advised the four young men to refrain from hunting and to keep themselves as much in retirement as possible.

“You treat the domain of Gondreville as if it were your own,” he said to the Messieurs de Simeuse, “and you are keeping alive a deadly hatred.  I see, by the surprise upon your faces, that you are quite unaware of the ill-will against you at Troyes, where your late brave conduct is remembered.  They tell of how you foiled the police of the Empire; some praise you for it, but others regard you as enemies of the Emperor; partisans declare that Napoleon’s clemency is inexplicable.  That, however, is nothing.  The real danger lies here; you foiled men who thought themselves cleverer than you; and low-bred men never forgive.  Sooner or later justice, which in your department emanates from your enemy, Senator Malin (who has his henchmen everywhere, even in the ministerial offices),—­his justice will rejoice to see you involved in some annoying scrape.  A peasant, for instance, will quarrel with you for riding over his field; your guns are in your hands, you are hot-tempered, and something happens.  In your position it is absolutely essential that you should not put yourselves in the wrong.  I do not speak to you thus without good reason.  The police keep this arrondissement under strict surveillance; they have an agent in that little hole of Arcis expressly to protect the Imperial senator Malin against your attacks.  He is afraid of you, and says so openly.”

“It is a calumny!” cried the younger Simeuse.

“A calumny,—­I am sure of it myself, but will the public believe it?  Michu certainly did aim at the senator, who does not forget the danger he was in; and since your return the countess has taken Michu into her service.  To many persons, in fact to the majority, Malin will seem to be in the right.  You do not understand how delicate the position of an emigre is towards those who are now in possession of his property.  The prefect, a very intelligent man, dropped a word to me yesterday about you which has made me uneasy.  In short, I sincerely wish you would not remain here.”