"You forget the suddenness of the journey
to Paris," said Trudaine. " How are we to
account for it without the risk-of awakening
my sister's suspicions?"

"Trust that to me," answered Lomaque.
"Let us return to the cottage at once. No!
not you," he added suddenly, as they turned
to retrace their steps. "There is that in your
face which would betray us. Leave me to
go back alone—I will say that you have gone
to give some orders at the inn. Let us separate
immediately. You will recover your
self-possession, you will get to look yourself
again sooner, if you are left alone—I know
enough of you to know that. We will not
waste another minute in explanations, even
minutes are precious to us on such a day as
this. By the time you are fit to meet your
sister again, I shall have had time to say all I
wish to her, and shall be waiting at the
cottage to tell you the result."

He looked at Trudaine, and his eyes seemed
to brighten again with something of the
old energy and sudden decision of the days
when he was a man in office under the
Reign of Terror. "Leave it to me," he said;
and, waving his hand, turned away quickly in
the direction of the cottage.

Nearly an hour passed before Trudaine
ventured to follow him. "When he at length
entered the path which led to the garden
gate, he saw his sister waiting at the cottage
door. Her face looked unusually animated;
and she ran forward a step or two to meet
him.

"Oh, Louis!" she said, "I have a confession
to make, and I must beg you to hear it
patiently to the end. You must know that
our good Lomaque, though he came in tired
from his walk, occupied himself the first thing,
at my request, in writing the letter which is to
secure to us our dear old home by the banks
of the Seine. When he had done, he looked
at me, and said, 'I should like to be present
at your happy return to the house where I
first saw you.' 'Oh, come, come with us! 'I
said directly. 'I am not an independent
man,' he answered, 'I have a margin of time
allowed me at Paris, certainly, but it is not
long—if I were only my own master—' and
then he stopped. Louis! I remembered all
we owed to him; I remembered that there
was no sacrifice we ought not to be too glad
to make for his sake; I felt the kindness of
the wish he had expressed; and, perhaps, I
was a little influenced by my own impatience
to see my flower garden and the rooms where
we used to be so happy again. So I said to
him, 'I am sure Louis will agree with me,
that our time is yours, and that we shall be
only too glad to advance our departure so as
to make travelling-leisure enough for you to
come with us to Rouen. We should be worse
than ungrateful—' He stopped me. 'You
have always been good to me,' he said, ' I
must not impose on your kindness now. No!
no! you have formalities to settle before you
can leave this place.' 'Not one,' I said—for
we have not, as you know, Louis? 'Why,
here is your furniture to begin with,' he
said. 'A few chairs and tables hired from
the inn,' I answered; 'we have only to give
the landlady our key, to leave a letter for the
owner of the cottage, and then—'He laughed.
' Why, to hear you talk, one would think you
were as ready to travel as I am!' 'So we
are,' I said, 'quite as ready, living in the way
we do here.' He shook his head; but you
will not shake yours, Louis, I am sure, now
you have heard all my long story? You can't
blame me, can you? "

Before Trudaine could answer, Lomaque
looked out of the cottage window.

"I have just been telling my brother
everything," said Rose, turning round towards
him.

"And what does he say?" asked Lomaque.

"He says what I say," replied Rose,
answering for her brother; " that our time is
your time—the time of our best and dearest
friend."

"Shall it be done, then?" asked Lomaque,
with a meaning look at Trudaine.

Rose glanced anxiously at her brother: his
face was much graver than she had expected
to see it, but his answer relieved her from all
suspense.

"You were quite right, love, to speak as
you did," he said gently. Then, turning to
Lomaque, he added in a firmer voice, "It
shall be done!"

CHAPTER VII.

Two days after the travelling carriage
described by Lomaque had passed the
diligence on the road to Paris, Madame Danville
sat in the drawing-room of an apartment in
the Rue de Grenelle, handsomely dressed for
driving out. After consulting a large gold
watch that hung at her side, and finding that
it wanted a quarter of an hour only to two
o'clock, she rang her hand-bell, and said to
the maid servant who answered the summons:
"I have five minutes to spare. Send
Dubois here with my chocolate."

The old man made his appearance with
great alacrity. After handing the cup of
chocolate to his mistress, he ventured to use
the privilege of talking, to which his long and
faithful services entitled him, and paid the
old lady a compliment. "I am rejoiced to see
madame looking so young and in such good
spirits this morning," he said, with a low bow
and a mild deferential smile.

"I think I have some reason for being
in good spirits on the day when my
son's marriage contract is to be signed," said
Madame Danville, with a gracious nod of the
head. "Ha, Dubois, I shall live yet to see
him with a patent of nobility in his hand.
The mob has done its worst; the end of this
infamous revolution is not far off; our order
will have its turn again soon, and then who