"M. André!" he cried. "M. André!" And then he looked at the sash and the cockade, and hesitated, apparently at a loss.
But André-Louis stepped past him into the wide vestibule, with its tessellated floor of black-and-white marble.
"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. André—and I am sure he will be ravished to see you. No, he has not yet retired. This way, M. André; this way, if you please."
The returning André-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.
André-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
