"And what might the remedy be?"

"Death."

"What is your religious name, Monsieur?" asked the Chevalier, strangely
subdued.

"I am Father Jacques, _protégé_ of the kindly Chaumonot. But I am
known to my brothers and friends as Brother Jacques. And you,
Monsieur, are doubtless connected with the court."

"Yes. I am known as the Chevalier du Cévennes, under De Guitaut, in
her Majesty's Guards."

"Cévennes?" the priest repeated, ruminating. "Why, that is the name of
a mountain range in the South."

"So it is. I was born in that region, and it pleased me to bear
Cévennes as a name of war. I possess a title, but I do not assume it;
I simply draw its revenues." The Chevalier scowled at his buckles, as
if some disagreeable thought had come to him.

The priest remarked the change in the soldier's voice; it had grown
harsh and repellent. "Monsieur, I proceed from Rouen to Rochelle; are
you familiar with that city?"

"Rochelle? Oh, indifferently."

The Jesuit plucked at his lips for a space, as if hesitant to break the
silence. "Have you ever heard of the Marquis de Périgny?"