Mr Trenchard, half into his coat, stared at him across the bed, and the dimly-seen figure may have suggested to him that, after all, the more adventurous course lay in following the unknown out into the night. “I don’t know who the devil you are,” he said, “but I’ll come with you.” CHAPTER XXIV “I SENT A LETTER TO MY LOVE” “O thou unfaithful, still as ever dearest, That in thy beauty to my eyes appearest, In fancy rising now to reawaken My love unshaken; All thou’st forgotten, but no change can free thee, No hate unmake thee; as thou wert I see thee. . . . . . . . . O thou my star of stars, among things wholly Devoted, sacred, dim and melancholy, The only joy of all the joys I cherished, Thou hast not perished.” —ROBERT BRIDGES. Fortune was markedly kind to the fugitives. The bar-parlour of the Soleil d’Or, whence indeed a considerable clamour was heard to issue, lay in the front of that hostelry; the stable-yard was completely deserted, and its deep dirt silenced the horses’ hoofs. In less than ten minutes after their reunion, the three men were riding unchallenged along the high-road, into which the lane from the yard had conveniently and unostentatiously conducted them. “We are in luck, by Gad!” observed Mr Trenchard feelingly. “I cannot be sufficiently grateful for your warning, Monsieur. May I, without indiscretion, know whom I have the privilege of addressing? My name is Trenchard.” “Forgive me,” said Louis, “and let me present my cousin, the Marquis de Château-Foix. He has a fancy for travelling as a druggist, and you may address him as the Citizen Pomponne. I am the Vicomte de Saint-Ermay, his incompetent assistant.” “If I had only known——” began the Englishman in some confusion. “You would not have given me ten sols,” finished Louis, laughing. “I know it, but I shall not return your bounty.” The Marquis remarked politely that he was glad to make Mr Trenchard’s acquaintance, though in unpropitious circumstances, and asked him how long he had been in France.