“No. I want you to take my place elsewhere. I want you to escort Lucienne over to England for me.” To the Marquis’ amazement the smile of a moment before was wiped as completely off Saint-Ermay’s face as if he had struck him. A quite indefinable but perfectly visible change crossed it, as, drawing a little back, Louis said in a glacial tone: “I couldn’t possibly do that.” Gilbert’s surprise began to approach the border-line of offence. “It is not such an extraordinary proposition, surely?” he retorted. “You are to all intents and purposes my younger brother, and Lucienne goes under the wing of Madame Gaumont. An escort, however, is desirable; naturally, I meant to go myself, but it is out of the question. I must return to Chantemerle the moment she is out of Paris.” “Isn’t it more out of the question,” asked the Vicomte, “to send her out of Paris in the dangerous company of a suspect like myself? Do you think that my escort (as things are tending) would do anything else but compromise her?” There was so much sound sense in this objection that Château-Foix at once ruefully acknowledged the downfall of his diplomatic little house of cards. Behind a slight annoyance at his own short-sightedness lurked also a vague wonder at Louis’ evident distaste for the mission. “I suppose that you are right,” he conceded regretfully. “It was foolish of me not to have thought of that—but the plan had occurred to me before I knew that you were so compromised. Well, she must go alone.” “Madame Gaumont is worth an army of _ci-devants_ such as myself,” said Louis in a more natural manner. “The name of the late Gaumont is a passport with the patriotic. On my honour, I think Lucienne is safer without—without any other escort.” He got up, and went on with less of his usual levity: “I can’t leave the King, Gilbert. You will say, and justly, that my presence is not much guarantee for his safety, but I could leave him less easily now after compromising him—as you told me the other night I was doing.” “My dear Louis——” “No, you were quite right. But I _am_ a _chevalier du poignard_, as they call us. I am sworn not to desert . . . I have, to tell you the truth, his Majesty’s orders to remain. And there’s an end of it,” concluded the Vicomte, suddenly smiling. Gilbert had never liked him quite so well as during the progress of this little harangue. For one thing, it was so rare to see him in earnest. “I will say no more about it,” he replied. “We must wait and see what happens, as you say. And now, to recur to Lucienne, let us go and see if she has left the Tuileries yet. She was to go to Madame Gaumont’s house in the Rue Vieille-de-Temple at noon; if we get to the palace in time, we might accompany her.” He pulled out his watch and looked at it. “We have just time.” “But you won’t want me,” said Louis.