shall housekeep and live in-doors. I, as the
rougher and the more alert, will continue my
father's trade, and seek work at the tailors'
shops."

I could think of no better plan, so we
followed this out. In a back street at Frankfort
we found two furnished rooms to let on a sixth
story. The one we entered had no light from
day; a dingy lamp swung perpetually from the
ceiling, and from that, or from the open door
leading into the bedroom beyond, came our only
light. The bedroom was more cheerful, but very
small. Such as it was, it almost exceeded our
possible means. The money from the sale of
my ring was almost exhausted, and Amante was
a stranger in the place, speaking only French,
moreover, and the good Germans were hating
the French people right heartily. However,
we succeeded better than our hopes, and even
laid by a little against the time of my confinement.
I never stirred abroad, and saw no one,
and Amante's want of knowledge of German
kept her in a state of comparative isolation.

At length my child was born—my poor worse
than fatherless child. It was a girl, as I had
prayed for. I had feared lest a boy might have
something of the tiger nature of its father, but
a girl seemed all my own. And yet not all my
own, for the faithful Amante's delight and glory
in the babe almost exceeded mine; in outward
show it certainly did.

We had not been able to afford any attendance
beyond what a neighbouring sage-femme
could give, and she came frequently, bringing in
with her a little store of gossip, and wonderful
tales culled out of her own experience, every
time. One day she began to tell me about a
great lady in whose service her daughter had
lived as scullion, or some such thing. Such a
beautiful lady! with such a handsome husband.
But grief comes to the palace as well as to the
garret, and why or wherefore no one knew, but
somehow the Baron de RÅ“der must have
incurred the vengeance of the terrible Chauffeurs;
for not many months ago, as madame was going
to see her relations in Alsace, she was stabbed
dead as she lay in bed at some hotel on the
road. Had I not seen it in the Gazette? Had
I not heard? Why, she had been told that as
far off as Lyons there were placards offering a
heavy reward on the part of the Baron de RÅ“der
for information respecting the murderer of his
wife. But no one could nelp him, for all who
could bear evidence were in such terror of the
Chauffeurs; there were hundreds of them she
had been told, rich and poor, great gentlemen
and peasants, all leagued together by most
frightful oaths to hunt to the death any one who
bore witness against them; so that even they
who survived the tortures to which the Chauffeurs
subjected many of the people whom they
plundered, dared not to recognise them again,
would not dare, even did they see then at the
bar of a court of justice; for, if one were
condemned, were there not hundreds sworn to avenge
his death?"

I told all this to Amante, and we began to fear
that if M. de la Tourelle, or Lefebvre, or any of
the gang at Les Rochers, had seen these placards,
they would know that the poor lady stabbed by
the former was the Baroness de RÅ“der, and that
they would set forth again in search of me.

This fresh apprehension told on my health
and impeded my recovery. We had so little
money we could not call in a physician, at
least, not one in established practice. But
Amante found out a young doctor for whom,
indeed, she had sometimes worked; and offering
to pay him in kind, she brought him to see me,
her sick wife. He was very gentle and thoughtful,
though, like ourselves, very poor. But he
gave much time and consideration to the case,
saying once to Amante that he saw my constitution
had experienced some severe shock from
which it was probable that my nerves would never
entirely recover. By-and by I shall name this
doctor, and then you will know, better than I
can describe, his character.

I grew strong in time—- stronger, at least. I
was able to work a little at home, and to sun
myself and my baby at the garret-window in the
roof. It was all the air I dared to take. I
constantly wore the disguise I had first set out
with; as constantly had I renewed the disfiguring
dye which changed my hair and complexion.
But the perpetual state of terror in which I had
been during the whole months succeeding my
escape from Les Rochers made me loathe the
idea of ever again walking in the open daylight,
exposed to the sight and recognition of every
passer-by. In vain Amante reasoned— in vain
the doctor urged. Docile in every other thing,
in this I was obstinate. I would not stir out.
One day Amante returned from her work, full of
news—some of it good, some such as to cause
us apprehension. The good news was this: the
master for whom she worked as journeyman was
going to send her with some others to a great
house at the other side of Frankfort, where there
were to be private theatricals, and where many
new dresses and much alteration of old ones
would be required. The tailors employed were
all to stay at this house until the day of
representation was over, as it was at some distance
from the town, and no one could tell when their
work would be ended. But the pay was to be
proportionately good.

The other thing she had to say was this: she
had that day met the travelling jeweller to
whom she and I had sold my ring. It was rather
a peculiar one, given to me by my husband; we
had felt at the time that it might be the means
of tracing us, but we were penniless and starving,
and what else could we do? She had seen
that this Frenchman had recognised her at the
same instant that she did him, and she thought
as the same time that there was a gleam of more
than common intelligence on his face as he did
so. This idea had been confirmed by his
following her for some way on the other side of the
street; but she had evaded him with her better
knowledge of the town, and the increasing darkness
of the night. Still it was well that she was
going to such a distance from our dwelling on