many a danger and still more terrors of danger,
I shall not tell you now. I will only relate two
of our adventures before we reached Frankfort.
The first, although fatal to an innocent lady,
was yet, I believe, the cause of my safety; the
second I shall tell you, that you may
understand why I did not return to my former home,
as I had hoped to do when we lay in the miller's
loft, and I first became capable of groping after
an idea of what my future life might be. I
cannot tell you how much in these doubtings
and wanderings I became attached to Amante.
I have sometimes feared since lest I cared for
her only because she was so necessary to my
own safety; but, no! it was not so; or not so
only, or principally. She said once that she
was flying for her own life as well as for mine;
but we dared not speak much on our danger,
or on the horrors that had gone before. We
planned a little what was to be our future
course; but even for that we did not look
forward Iong"; how could we, when every day we
scarcely knew if we should see the sun go
down? For Amante knew or conjectured far
more than I did of the atrocity of the gang to
which M. de la Tourelle belonged; and every
now and then, just as we seemed to be sinking
into the calm of security, we fell upon traces of
a pursuit after us in all directions. Once I
remember—we must have been nearly three
weeks wearily walking through unfrequented
ways, day after day, not daring to make
inquiry as to our whereabouts, nor yet to seem
purposeless in our wanderings—we came to a kind
of lonely roadside farrier's and blacksmith's.
I was so tired, that Amante declared that, come
what might, we would stay there all night; and
accordingly she entered the house, and boldly
announced herself as a travelling tailor, ready
to do any odd jobs of work that might be
required, for a night's lodging and food for
herself and wife. She had adopted this plan
once or twice before, and with good success;
for her father had been a tailor in Rouen, and
as a girl she had often helped him with his
work, and knew the tailors' slang and habits,
down to the particular whistle and cry which
in France tell so much to those of a trade. At
this blacksmith's, as at most other solitary
bouses far away from a town, there was not
only a store of men's clothes laid by as wanting
mending when the housewife could afford time,
but there was a natural craving after news from
a distance, such news as a wandering tailor is
bound to furnish. The early November afternoon
was closing into evening, as we sat down,
she cross-legged on the great table in the
blacksmith's kitchen, drawn close to the window,
I close behind her, sewing at another part
of the same garment, and from time to time
well scolded bv my seeming husband. All at
once she turned rouud to speak to me. It was
only one word, "Courage!" I had seen nothing;
I sat out of the light; but I turned sick for an
instant, and then I braced myself up into a
strange strength of endurance to go through I
knew not what.

The blacksmith's forge was in a shed beside
the house, and fronting the road. I heard the
hammers stop plying their continual rhythmical
beat. She had seen why they ceased. A rider
had come up to the forge and dismounted, leading
his horse in to be re-shod. The broad red
liglit of the forge-fire had revealed the face of
the rider to Amante, and she apprehended the
consequence that really ensued.

The rider, after some words with the blacksmith,
was ushered in by him into the house-place
where we sat.

"Here, good wife, a cup of wine and some
galette for this gentleman."

"Anything, anything, madame, that I can
eat and drink in my hand while my horse is
being shod. I am in haste, and must get on
to Forbach to-night."

The blacksmith's wife lighted her lamp;
Amante had asked her for it five minutes
before. How thankful we were that she
had not more speedily complied with our
request! As it was, we sat in dusk shadow,
pretending to stitch away, but scarcely able to see.
The lamp was placed on the stove, near which
my husband, for it was he, stood and warmed
himself. By-and-by he turned round, and looked
all over the room, taking us in with about the
same degree of interest as the inanimate
furniture. Amante, cross-legged, fronting him,
stooped over her work, whistling softly all the
while. He turned again to the stove,
impatiently rubbing his hands. He had finished his
wine and galette, and wanted to be off.

"I am in haste, my good woman. Ask thy
husband to get on more quickly. I will pay
him double it he makes haste."

The woman went out to do his bidding; and
he once more turned round to face us. Amante
went on to the second part of the tune. He
took it up, whistled a second for an instant or
so, and then the blacksmith's wife re-entering,
he moved towards her, as if to receive her
answer the more speedily.

"One moment, monsieur—- only one moment.
There was a nail out of the off fore-shoe which
my husband is replacing; it would delay
monsieur again, if that shoe also came off."

"Madame is right," said he, " but my haste
is urgent. If madame knew my reasons, she
would pardon my impatience. Once a happy
husband, now a deserted and betrayed man, I
pursue a wife on whom I lavished all my love,
but who has abused my confidence, and fled
from my house, doubtless to some paramour;
carrying off with her all the jewels and money
on which she could lay her hands. It is
possible madame may have heard or seen something
of her; she was accompanied in her flight by a
base, profligate woman from Paris, whom I,
unhappy man, had myself engaged for my wife's
waiting-maid, little dreaming what corruption I
was bringing into my house!"

"Is it possible?" said the good woman,
throwing up her hands.

Amante went on whistling a little lower, out
of respect to the conversation.