“That is correct, monsieur,” she answered, with what civility she could muster before the fellow’s affronting rudeness.

There was a long moment of silence, during which he studied certain pencilled entries against the name.  The sections had been working in the last few weeks much more systematically than was generally suspected.

“Your husband is with you, madame?” he asked curtly, his eyes still conning that page.

“M. le Comte is not with me,” she answered, stressing the title.

“Not with you?” He looked up suddenly, and directed upon her a glance in which suspicion seemed to blend with derision.  “Where is he?”

“He is not in Paris, monsieur.

“Ah!  Is he at Coblenz, do you think?”

Madame felt herself turning cold.  There was something ominous in all this.  To what end had the sections informed themselves so thoroughly of the comings and goings of their inhabitants?  What was preparing?  She had a sense of being trapped, of being taken in a net that had been cast unseen.

“I do not know, monsieur,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“Of course not.”  He seemed to sneer.  “No matter.  And you wish to leave Paris also?  Where do you desire to go?”

“To Meudon.”

“Your business there?”

The blood leapt to her face.  His insolence was unbearable to a woman who in all her life had never known anything but the utmost deference from inferiors and equals alike.  Nevertheless, realizing that she was face to face with forces entirely new, she controlled herself, stifled her resentment, and answered steadily.

“I wish to conduct this lady, Mlle. de Kercadiou, back to her uncle who resides there.”

“Is that all?  Another day will do for that, madame.  The matter is not pressing.”

“Pardon, monsieur, to us the matter is very pressing.”

“You have not convinced me of it, and the barriers are closed to all who cannot prove the most urgent and satisfactory reasons for wishing to pass.  You will wait, madame, until the restriction is removed.  Good-evening.”

“But, monsieur... "

“Good-evening, madame,” he repeated significantly, a dismissal more contemptuous and despotic than any royal “You have leave to go.”

Madame went out with Aline.  Both were quivering with the anger that prudence had urged them to suppress.  They climbed into the coach again, desiring to be driven home.

Rougane’s astonishment turned into dismay when they told him what had taken place.  “Why not try the Hotel de Ville, madame?” he suggested.

“After that?  It would be useless.  We must resign ourselves to remaining in Paris until the barriers are opened again.”

“Perhaps it will not matter to us either way by then, madame,” said Aline.

“Aline!” she exclaimed in horror.

“Mademoiselle!” cried Rougane on the same note.  And then, because he perceived that people detained in this fashion must be in some danger not yet discernible, but on that account more dreadful, he set his wits to work.  As they were approaching the Hotel Plougastel once more, he announced that he had solved the problem.