him again, for he was killed in the first fight they had with the English."

"How much do you earn in a day as driver of this post-chaise?" asked the marquis.

"Three francs and my meals," answered the man. "It is poor pay, but I can find nothing better."

"Would you like to make five louis d'or before midnight?"

The man's eyes glistened. "I would do much for that," he said.

"I will tell you how you can earn it,” said the marquis. "Is there not some side road here down which we can drive, where we shall be out of the line of travel?"

"Oh, yes," said the man. "I know of a place where we can put up for the night if you wish. It is not such a place as gentlemen frequent. To speak plainly, I am afraid they are no better than highwaymen. Diligences have been held up and the passengers robbed many times, but it is hard to prove anything when the night is dark and the men wear masks."

"Drive us there at once," said the marquis. "If we succeed to-night I will make it ten louis d'or and you need not work for a month."

Shortly before nine o'clock the diligence arrived at the inn and the passengers who had been delayed by the accident were fortunate enough to find seats in the vehicle. For a mile or more it dashed on at full speed; then the driver drew in his horses for they were at the entrance to the great Forest of Dreux. It looked like a dark, deep cavern. The roadway was not wide and the interlaced branches of the trees formed a roof above it. Even if the moon had been shining, its rays could not have forced their way through the thick network of

leaves and branches. The most piercing eye could see but a short distance beyond the horses' heads. The driver gave them a loose rein, for the intelligent animals knew the road as well as he did.

A bright flash, followed by the report of a pistol, caused the horses to swerve from the road, and the frightened driver pulled them back almost upon their haunches.

"Hold up!" cried a voice from out of the darkness. "Stay where you are, or you are a dead man.'

The driver had heard such a command before and had no intention of disobeying it. He looked about and saw, at least, a dozen forms, dimly outlined.

One of the band opened the door of the diligence and cried: "We are gentlemen of the road and we want to become better acquainted. To do so, it will be necessary for you to alight.”

The marquise imagined she recognized the voice of the leader; it somehow reminded her of her son Florentin. But that thought she suddenly dismissed. He was a wild lad and had been concerned in many brawls in the city, but become a highwayman-no, that was impossible.

The passengers were soon standing in the road by the side of the diligence.

"Are you frightened, ma chère?" asked the marquise. "No," said Frances, in a whisper, "but what will they do to us?"

"Oh, they are highwaymen; just plain, ordinary robbers. They will take our money and jewelry and then let us go. I do not think they will harm us."

"Come this way-one at a time," cried the leader.

The marquise listened attentively. Surely that was the voice of her son.

One of the band seized Frances by the arm. "Come," he said, and she was led away.

The marquise sprang forward and grasped Frances by the arm, but she was at once separated by one of the ruffians, and stumbling in the dark, she immediately rejoined the other passengers, and with them stood expectant. Would it be her turn next? To her surprise she was not summoned. She thought she heard a faint cry. It sounded like the voice of a woman. Perhaps it came from Frances who was being maltreated by the ruffians. The next sound that greeted her ears was that of horses' hoofs, and as she listened the sound grew fainter, and still more faint.

"They are gone," said a voice near her. "They could not have been robbers, for I have not lost a sou."

The other passengers gathered about her. "Where is the other lady?” asked one of them.

Then the truth flashed upon the marquise. No, they were not robbers. The affair had been adroitly planned and successfully carried out. Frances Fentress had again become the victim of an abduction, and the perpetrators must have been the girl's uncle and she felt convinced now beyond the shadow of a doubt-the other who acted as the ringleader, was her own son, the Marquis de Ferdieu!

CHAPTER XIX

DIANE DE POITIERS

THE marquin Normandy. She left the diligence at

'HE marquise did not continue her journey to her chateau

the inn which lay just beyond the farther end of the Forest of Dreux, and took the next conveyance back to Paris. When she reached that city, she made her way at once to Passy and told the astonished Dr. Franklin what had occurred.

“I am afraid Monsieur Jacquin would be of little service to us," said he. "His power is mighty within the city walls, but I do not think it extends over the provinces. My dear madam, it seems a useless question for me to ask, but where do you think they have taken her?"

"To answer your question, my dear doctor, I must recount a portion of my family history. I am not positive my son was one of the band, yet I feel convinced that he was the leader, and I shall proceed upon that assumption. I have no wish to shield him, and if he is guilty I shall not stand in the way of his proper punishment. But I said that I must tell you some of my family history. Did you ever hear of Diane de Poitiers ?"

"I have read about her," said the doctor. "She lived, I think, some two hundred years ago.”

"Yes," said the marquise, "during the reigns of Francis I and Henry II. She was the daughter of Jean de Poitiers, who was made Count de Saint Vallier. When she

was but fifteen years of age she was married to Louis de Brézé, the great seneschal of Normandy. He was what they called an old man, being nearly sixty years of age."

"That was well put, madame," said Franklin. "I am seventy years of age, and yet I do not call myself an old man."

"In those days of wars and pillage," continued the marquise, "men were old before their time. They fought then with bows and arrows and swords; now they battle with their pens and tongues.'

"Well put again," said Franklin. "I have battled with both. But pardon me; I am interested in the story and will not interrupt again."

"Diane's father was not a supporter of King Francis, his sympathies being with Charles de Bourbon. He was apprehended, and in those days there was but one fate for traitors-the ax. Diane heard of her father's arrest and prevailed upon her husband to allow her to go to court and intercede for his life with the king. She did So. In those days, and perhaps even now, kings did not grant such favors without some return. Francis was that kind of a man, and Diane deserted her husband and became the king's favorite. Before his death his son Henry, the heir to the throne, became enamored of her and she became his first favorite at court. She had four sons; Cæsar, the oldest, was created Duke de Vendôme. I am a lineal descendant from the first Duke de Vendôme. Now for the most important part of my story. While Diane was at the zenith of her power at court, King Henry built for her a superb chateau-the Chateau of Anet. She left it to her son, the Duke de Vendôme, and for two hundred years it has been in our family, the title to it being conferred, in accordance with long-time usage, upon the oldest son. Consequently, my son, Flor