“I perceived it, monsieur,” she answered, as she advanced to do madame’s commission.  She paused before him.  “From my heart, monsieur, I grieve that we should meet again in circumstances so very painful.”

Not since the day of his duel with Andre-Louis — the day which had seen the death and burial of his last hope of winning her — had they stood face to face.

He checked as if on the point of answering her.  His glance strayed to Mme. de Plougastel, and, oddly reticent for one who could be very glib, he bowed in silence.

“But sit, monsieur, I beg.  You are fatigued.”

“You are gracious to observe it.  With your permission, then.”  And he resumed his seat.  She continued on her way to the door and passed out upon her errand.

When presently she returned they had almost unaccountably changed places.  It was Mme. de Plougastel who was seated in that armchair of brocade and gilt, and M. de La Tour d’Azyr who, despite his lassitude, was leaning over the back of it talking earnestly, seeming by his attitude to plead with her.  On Aline’s entrance he broke off instantly and moved away, so that she was left with a sense of having intruded.  Further she observed that the Countess was in tears.

Following her came presently the diligent Jacques, bearing a tray laden with food and wine.  Madame poured for her guest, and he drank a long draught of the Burgundy, then begged, holding forth his grimy hands, that he might mend his appearance before sitting down to eat.

He was led away and valeted by Jacques, and when he returned he had removed from his person the last vestige of the rough handling he had received.  He looked almost his normal self, the disorder in his attire repaired, calm and dignified and courtly in his bearing, but very pale and haggard of face, seeming suddenly to have increased in years, to have reached in appearance the age that was in fact his own.

As he ate and drank — and this with appetite, for as he told them he had not tasted food since early morning — he entered into the details of the dreadful events of the day, and gave them the particulars of his own escape from the Tuileries when all was seen to be lost and when the Swiss, having burnt their last cartridge, were submitting to wholesale massacre at the hands of the indescribably furious mob.

“Oh, it was all most ill done,” he ended critically.  “We were timid when we should have been resolute, and resolute at last when it was too late.  That is the history of our side from the beginning of this accursed struggle.  We have lacked proper leadership throughout, and now — as I have said already — there is an end to us.  It but remains to escape, as soon as we can discover how the thing is to be accomplished.”

Madame told him of the hopes that she had centred upon Rougane.

It lifted him out of his gloom.  He was disposed to be optimistic.