L'ENVOI 227 



the tree-tops dark against the moon, 

 bringing with it the sounds and scents of 

 the night. Now the road dipped to rejoin 

 the gUstening beechwoods, and further 

 ran in between rich pasture-lands, till at 

 length we reached the chateau of Kermour, 

 where on one side stood two great 

 wrought-iron gates, flung wide ahinge on 

 massive timeworn columns of stone, and 

 beyond, a straight, long avenue of trees 

 cut sharp against the sky, leading in vista 

 to the ancient manoir. It lay remote, 

 veiled now in mystery, save for a single 

 window, where lights still burned. Jean 

 Pierre chuckled. " Monsieur le Marquis 

 is a proud and happy man this night," he 

 said ; " only to-day his son returned from 

 service in Algiers. Madoue ! how he loves 

 that boy ! He needs him too ; he grows 

 old, you see. These are sad times for the 

 vraie noblesse." He paused, his whip 

 flicked at the moonlit sky. " I hate the 

 Government !" he muttered. " God ! how 

 I hate them !" " And you a patriotic 

 Frenchman," I retorted, smiling. Jean 

 Pierre turned swiftly : " Never say that, 

 monsieur, jamais. Fran^ais ! Sapristi 



