At all events, there was no use in stopping in the Rue Montmartre any longer, so he opened the door, after putting the things in order, and taking up the valise in his hand, he walked towards the passage. "_Bon soir_!" he shouted to the Mere Cliquelle and her husband above, who thought the evening's proceedings rather strange on the whole but consoled themselves with the reflection that "_Ces Anglais sont droles_!" "_Bon soir, Monsieur! Au revoir_!" they responded; and Markworth walked out of the Mere Cliquelle's house for the last time. It was now nearly ten o'clock, and all was quiet about the street, which was quite dark. He was unnoticed, and free to go where he pleased, and so he turned his steps this time down towards the steamboat quay. There, although it was so late, he managed to come across a fisherman, who was just starting off in his little boat. For a small consideration, as it lay in his way, the man consented to land him over at Honfleur, on the opposite banks of the Seine, Markworth telling him that he had a sick wife, whom he must visit that night. "_Pauvre fille_!" said the _Ignobile Pescatore_, with a sympathetic shrug, "we must take you to madame;" and setting his brawny arms to work, in addition to the lugsail, for there was little wind, Markworth was, after the lapse of a short interval, set ashore at length at Honfleur, leaving the broad and muddy Seine between himself and his Nemesis. He could now breathe freely. His plans were made up, and he had only to wait until the early morning for carrying them into execution. At an auberge in the centre of the town he got a lodging for the night, and in the early morning was travelling north. From Paris to Brussels--train again--miles of railroad--on, on to Bremen, or rather Bremenhaven as the port is properly called. Time to catch one of the German American steamships of the _Nord Deutsche_ line, that ply between that port and New York, touching at Southampton on the way. Caught it! Be certain tho' that Markworth landed not at the stopping-place on the route! He had too wholesome a dread of his creditor, Solomonson, and the possibilities of a "capias" or "ca ca" administered by one of the greasy hands of mine host of Curseover Street, Chancery Lane. No more treading on British soil for him! Bremen to Southampton--a two days' trip. One day more lying there alongside the railroad dock, and afterwards far out in the harbour, where the hull of the steamer looked like a gigantic lizard, or the far-famed sea-serpent. Then, on a Wednesday morning, he finally sailed for the land of the setting sun--"the home of the brave and free;" where, according to the poetical license of transatlantic eulogists, "the Bird o' Freedom claps her wings in exultation over the star-spangled banner in the ethereal expanse of perennial blue."