“I have seen him and told him all,” replied Lucette. “He is much better, but knows he has not strength enough for this.” Gerard was very grave and anxious in his concern for Gabrielle, and as they passed through the chapel, down into the crypt and along the dark, mouldy, gloomy passage, scarce a word was spoken. But as soon as they emerged into the fresh air, Pascal, who had gone on first to make sure no one was about, began to talk. He walked with Lucette, Gerard and Gabrielle being ahead. “We mustn’t look like a funeral procession, mademoiselle.” “If you were as anxious for me as M. Gerard is for Gabrielle, you too might be solemn, monsieur.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Hadn’t we better settle the parts we mean to play?” “What are they?” “Well, to begin with, we’d better stop this ‘monsieur’ and ‘mademoiselle’ to each other. My name, as you know, is Pascal, and yours is Lucette, and they are neither of them names to be ashamed of. What say you--Lucette?” “Just as you wish--Pascal,” and she copied his pause and tone, and laughed. “Good. Now we must be something to each other, because we may be asked. Strangers don’t go riding about together as we have to; and we’re not strangers either.” “I am beginning to know something of you, at any rate.” “And an excellent education I hope you find it. Now, what do you say to brother and sister?” “We might have to quarrel with one another in that case, or at least be discourteous. Is that what you wish--Pascal?” “That’s an excellent imitation of a sister’s manner--Lucette. But as we don’t want to quarrel, and I am plain burgher and you Madame Burgher, we might be husband and wife.” “It would be a loveless marriage, wouldn’t it?” “I’ve heard of them before,” he laughed drily. “But it would certainly be a marriage of convenience.” “And many of those are but little more acting than this. But I think in such a case I should be a scold.” “I am afraid you would, but as my back will be to you when you’re on the pillion, I don’t know that that will matter. How clear the roads are,” he said, breaking into earnestness for a moment. His eyes had been cast sharply in all directions, despite his laughing manner and words. “Do you think we shall get through? Poor Gabrielle is so anxious.” “Aye, that’s one of the troubles. She’s too anxious to play her part well, I fear. She’s not like--Madame Burgher.” “Nor is M. Gerard like--Monsieur Burgher.” “Well, let us hope the husband and wife will get their two charges safely through. We shall reach Babillon’s, at any rate,” he said soon afterwards, as they came in sight of the house. “I pray we shall find better luck than last time.” But they did not. The house was closed, and when they knocked and Babillon’s wife admitted them, it was to say that her husband had not been home all night. “It’s not a serious matter,” said Pascal, making light of it, as he did of all difficulties. “Wait here, and I’ll go and find a couple of horses somewhere.”