“If my godfather has not yet retired, take me to him.  If he has retired, take me to him all the same.”

“Oh, but certainly, M. Andre — and I am sure he will be ravished to see you.  No, he has not yet retired.  This way, M. Andre; this way, if you please.”

The returning Andre-Louis, reaching Meudon a half-hour ago, had gone straight to the mayor for some definite news of what might be happening in Paris that should either confirm or dispel the ominous rumours that he had met in ever-increasing volume as he approached the capital.  Rougane informed him that insurrection was imminent, that already the sections had possessed themselves of the barriers, and that it was impossible for any person not fully accredited to enter or leave the city.

Andre-Louis bowed his head, his thoughts of the gravest.  He had for some time perceived the danger of this second revolution from within the first, which might destroy everything that had been done, and give the reins of power to a villainous faction that would plunge the country into anarchy.  The thing he had feared was more than ever on the point of taking place.  He would go on at once, that very night, and see for himself what was happening.

And then, as he was leaving, he turned again to Rougane to ask if M. de Kercadiou was still at Meudon.

“You know him, monsieur?”

“He is my godfather.”

“Your godfather!  And you a representative!  Why, then, you may be the very man he needs.”  And Rougane told him of his son’s errand into Paris that afternoon and its result.

No more was required.  That two years ago his godfather should upon certain terms have refused him his house weighed for nothing at the moment.  He left his travelling carriage at the little inn and went straight to M. de Kercadiou.

And M. de Kercadiou, startled in such an hour by this sudden apparition, of one against whom he nursed a bitter grievance, greeted him in terms almost identical with those in which in that same room he had greeted him on a similar occasion once before.

“What do you want here, sir?”

“To serve you if possible, my godfather,” was the disarming answer.

But it did not disarm M. de Kercadiou.  “You have stayed away so long that I hoped you would not again disturb me.”

“I should not have ventured to disobey you now were it not for the hope that I can be of service.  I have seen Rougane, the mayor... "

“What’s that you say about not venturing to disobey?”

“You forbade me your house, monsieur.”

M. de Kercadiou stared at him helplessly.

“And is that why you have not come near me in all this time?”

“Of course.  Why else?”

M. de Kercadiou continued to stare.  Then he swore under his breath.  It disconcerted him to have to deal with a man who insisted upon taking him so literally.  He had expected that Andre-Louis would have come contritely to admit his fault and beg to be taken back into favour.  He said so.