'And none in his garde du corps is more gallant or more true,' said the old Duke, drawing off his long leather glove, and presenting his hand to me; not to kiss, after the absurd fashion of princes, but to press, like a brave, honest man; for this venerable soldier, though usually calm and grave, and lofty without pride, could act act very impulsively at times. 'By this honour, Monseigneur,' said I, in a voice that grew tremulous with conflicting emotions, 'I presume that I am not to be treated as a prisoner of war.' 'Prisoner?--no, no my brave stranger--my daughter has told me all.' 'All?' I reiterated in my heart; 'what can he mean by all'?' 'I have much to thank you for, M. Blane; but I am an old soldier, and have few words to spare; yet I can well appreciate deeds of honour, faith, and loyalty. I would speak with you of my daughter, Mademoiselle Marie-Louise, whom you have hitherto known under the very homely name of Nicola.' 'Of Nicola--oh yes, Nicola!' I faltered involuntarily, for that dear name, rendered by association so delightful to my ear, made me start, as it stirred my inner heart. A large mirror hung near me; I surveyed my own face in it, and the immobility of its features surprised even myself. This expression was fortunate, as I was the centre of many curious eyes, that stared at me without the slightest ceremony. 'You hear me?' said the Duke, gently. 'Monseigneur, I am all dutiful attention.' 'Mademoiselle Louise was discovered last night at a country hostelry, between this and Commercy.' 'Discovered----' 'By the Count de Bitche, colonel of our petardiers, who had gone there on a mission of kindness, believing her to be a lady, whose protector had been killed by some of our people in a brawl; but imagine his astonishment, on finding there the Princess of Lorraine, attired like a little sister of Vincent de Paule!' I gave the Count a furtive glance of hatred and defiance, to which he replied by a smile of scornful pride. 'M. Blane,' continued the Duke, 'you have been the means of saving, from the degradation of the Bastille, a princess of a house which, though menaced now by ruin and destruction, is fully equal to, and more ancient than, many of the royal lines in Europe--a house which, through Marie of Guelders and Marie of Lorraine, has been twice allied to the sovereign princes of your own country. I repeat to you, that my daughter has told me all--(_all_ again!)--and I must seek the means to repay you--not for the observance of your word of honour, pledged to Clara d'Amboise, faithfully to conduct Mademoiselle here--but for the unmerited humiliation to which that duty has been the means of subjecting you.' 'I thank you, Monseigneur le Duc. An exile from my own country, I have but the inheritance of a Scottish gentleman--a poor soldier of fortune--' 'And this, Monsieur--' 'Is my father's sword--with glory and adversity.'