“Good-night, my dear mother,” said Château-Foix, kissing her tenderly. As he released her, she caught hold of him again. “Thank God that she is safe too,” she said, emphasising the pronoun. “I wish that she knew you were so.” “She will soon know that we reached Candé at least in safety,” answered the Marquis unhesitatingly. “You may trust an Englishman to fulfil a promise. I sent a letter by him.” “You never told us that!” remarked his mother, a little surprised. “Dear Lucienne! I fear that, once knowing she was safe, I have been remiss in my enquiries. How did she bear the parting?” “I had some difficulty in persuading her to leave Madame Elisabeth,” replied Gilbert in the same level tones. “As far as safety and comfort are concerned, I am sure that she is in good hands, and after the events of the 20th that must be some consideration. But I will tell you all about her to-morrow,” he said, concluding this answer which was none at all. “I must be content with that, then, I suppose,” said Madame de Château-Foix, kissing him again. “And I am forgetting that I can apply to Louis too,” she added quickly, turning to the Vicomte where he stood silent, waiting to lead her out. “After all, you really know more about the dear child just now than Gilbert. How often have we not been glad that you were near her!” “Yes,” put in the Marquis slowly, looking at his cousin, though he spoke to the Marquise, “you must make him give you a full description of events before I got to Paris.” His voice grated ever so slightly. Louis made a supreme effort. For the last few moments, between mental turmoil, fatigue, and real physical pain, all he could realise was that he was nearing disaster, and he snatched blindly at the forces which were slipping from him. “I shall be happy to tell you everything about her to-morrow,” he said, with an inclination towards his aunt. Yet the ring in his voice seemed to the priest, who was watching his white face, to be meant for some one else. “But to-night. . . .” Unconsciously he caught hold of the high back of his chair to steady himself. “To-night, my dear boy,” interposed the Curé, coming round to him, “we can see that you will be back again in the apothecary’s hands if you do not go to bed at once. Is it not so, Madame? And I want the apothecary’s entire attention myself.” “Yes, indeed; I know that I am being selfish,” rejoined the Marquise, moving forward. “Come, Louis, I will not keep you a moment longer, and you shall let me dress your shoulder for you.” She swept past him up the table, and Louis threw a flickering glance of gratitude at the priest and followed her without a word.