'Blane,' said he, 'zounds! there are women in this huge tumbril. Whose better half have you abducted to-night?' 'Hush, for heaven's sake, hush! 'tis Louise of Lorraine.' 'The Duchess D'Alsace--where?' Torches were brought, and the doors of the carriage were opened. There sprang out a little boy clad in a rich coat of white satin, laced with gold, his fair hair tied with a blue ribbon. His air was haughty, but evinced alarm; for the brave child kept his hand on his tiny dagger. Then followed an old priest, in whom I immediately recognised Father Colville of the Scottish College at Pontamoussin, keeper of St. Lucy's reliques at St. Michel. Hat in hand I stood by the steps to assist Marie Louise; but disdaining my proffered courtesy, she sprang lightly to the ground. A young lady, her attendant, respectfully followed, with a countenance as expressive of terror, as that of her mistress indicated sorrow and anger. 'Messieurs, to what place is this we have been brought?' she asked. 'Lutzelstein, a castle on the Vosges,' I replied. 'And you command here?' she asked upbraidingly, as she bent her beautiful eyes upon me, with an expression which made my heart tremble. 'I do--but mademoiselle--' 'I am Madame la Duchesse d'Alsace!' 'Pardon me--alas! I had forgotten it.' 'Well, monsieur.' 'I wish to explain--' 'What?' 'This most unpleasant affair,' I urged. 'Is it thus, M. Blane, that you designate a brutal brawl devised by yourself, for my capture? Oh Arthur! Arthur! there was a time when I hoped for better deeds from you.' 'Marie Louise, I swear to you--' 'Monsieur!' 'Pardon me, and oh madame! do not pierce my heart with reproaches. Do not unheard condemn me to a life of sorrow and regret. I have acted to-night but in obedience to _this written order_, sent by the Marquis of Gordon from the trenches before Seltz, and delivered by Viscount Dundrennan, a gentleman of the Garde du Corps Ecossais.' 'Well--we are your prisoners--my husband and I,' said she, taking by the hand the child, who shrank close to her side as if for protection. 'So this is the Duke d'Alsace?' said I, regarding the poor urchin with a glance of a very mingled nature. '_My_ husband, and as such to be respected,' said Marie Louise, blushing to her white temples, and by hauteur vainly endeavouring to veil the shame of this absurd avowal, which was made before so many persons. 'You are indeed prisoners,' said I, sadly; 'prisoners whom I dare not release.' 'Very well, M. Blane, enough of this! lead us to our apartments for to-night--farewell!'