"There is the little one. And the strange part of it is that the two ex-nobles are two relatives."
The cavalier listened attentively. The innkeeper went on:
"One is young, the other, old; it is a grand-nephew fighting against his great uncle. The uncle is a Royalist; the nephew, a patriot. The uncle commands the Whites, the nephew commands the Blues. Ah! they will give no quarter, be sure of that. It is war to the death."
"To the death?"
"Yes, citizen. Wait, would you like to see the polite speeches they throw at each other's heads? Here is a notice the old man found a way to have posted up everywhere, on all the houses and all the trees, and which he had stuck up even on my door."
The host held his lantern near a square of paper fastened to one of the leaves of his double-door, and as the notice was in large letters, the cavalier was able to read from his horse,—
"The Marquis de Lantenac has the honor to inform his grand-nephew, Monsieur the Viscount Gauvain, that if Monsieur le Marquis has the good fortune to capture his person, he will have Monsieur le Viscount quietly shot."
"And," continued the innkeeper, here is the reply."
He turned around and threw the light from his lantern on another notice posted opposite the first on the other leaf of the door. The traveller read,—
"Gauvain warns Lantenac that if he takes him he will have him shot."
"Yesterday," said the host; "the first placard was pasted up on my door, and this morning, the second. The reply was not long coming."
The traveller, in an undertone, as if talking to himself, uttered these few words, which the innkeeper heard without taking in their full meaning,—
"Yes, it is more than civil war, it is domestic war. It is necessary, and it is well. The great rejuvenations of peoples are at this price."
And the traveller, raising his hand to his hat and fixing his eyes on the second notice, saluted it.
The host continued,—
"You see, citizen, this is how it is. In the cities and the
