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That might not be so long as the Marquis supposed. If a picture

of the chateau as it was to be a very few years hence, and of

fifty like it as they too were to be a very few years hence,

could have been shown to him that night, he might have been at a

loss to claim his own from the ghastly, fire-charred,

plunder-wrecked rains. As for the roof he vaunted, he might have

found that shutting out the sky in a new way--to wit, for ever,

from the eyes of the bodies into which its lead was fired, out of

the barrels of a hundred thousand muskets.

"Meanwhile," said the Marquis, "I will preserve the honour and

repose of the family, if you will not. But you must be fatigued.

Shall we terminate our conference for the night?"

"A moment more."

"An hour, if you please."

"Sir," said the nephew, "we have done wrong, and are reaping the

fruits of wrong."

"We have done wrong?" repeated the Marquis, with an inquiring

smile, and delicately pointing, first to his nephew, then to

himself.