'Alas, madame!' said I, feeling that sad sinking of a proud heart, which all but prostrates every energy, for never until then had my utter friendlessness so oppressed me; 'I am an unfortunate gentleman,--a stranger who has lost his way, and knows not in which direction to turn.' 'This is the Château d'Amboise; the way to Paris lies yonder,--straight across the lawn you will find the high-road, and then pursue it to your left.' 'Thanks, madame-- 'I have the honour to wish you a good night, monsieur.' 'Stay, madame, and pardon me--' I paused and cast down my eyes. 'Speak--what would you say?' 'Within this hour I have had to fly from Paris, pursued by the watch.' 'Ah--indeed!' she said, suspiciously. 'Having become involved in a brawl while protecting a fugitive female from two drunken gallants who were pursuing her, I was roughly set upon, and had the misfortune to--to--' 'To--what, monsieur?' 'Run one through the body.' 'And this was in the Place de la Grève, where the great pillory stands?' said the lady. 'It was close to the bridge of the Seine.' 'Ah! the Pont de Notre Dame?' 'Yes, madame.' 'Mon Dieu! how strange! Nicola, behold your preserver. Poor boy--for you are but a boy--how pale you look! Step in--quick my friend--tell me all this affair over again; and Nicola, hand him some wine; when I took you into my coach at the Pont de Notre Dame, how little we thought that one of your pursuers was being run through the body; but it served him right, the insolent--quite right!' I entered by the window and the curtains were closed behind; and in the younger lady, who had so hastily assumed her disguise, and who tremblingly handed to me a glass of wine, I recognised my pretty friend, the mask of the Place de la Grève; and I remarked that the hand which gave me the glass, was small, white, and delicate as a lily leaf. 'You shall remain here until pursuit is over,' said the lady, approaching a hand-bell; but suddenly she paused; her brow clouded and her eyes sparkled. 'Oh, monsieur, if all this story be but the trick of a gallant, who may have followed us--' 'Madame!' I exclaimed, and drew myself up angrily. 'Enough, monsieur--forgive me; 'twas but the thought of a moment, and this Paris of ours is so full of tricks and tricksters. My house is yours--be assured, sir, it is large enough for us both.' 'May I ask to whom I have the honour of being indebted?' She gave me one of her beautiful but inexplicable smiles, as she replied, 'I am Madame Clara d'Ische.' 'The Countess d'Amboise? 'Yes.' 'Oh, madame!' I exclaimed; 'this is a happy fatality! it is on you, and you only, that all my hopes in France depend.' 'On me?' she said, while her fine eyes dilated with astonishment, and I drew from my secret pocket the letter of the Duke of Lennox.