“And the messenger is to be a sort of outrider to your party?” “An outrider?--but, in truth. Yet, how far an outrider, shall depend upon his influence with monseigneur.” Ned bowed. “I should like to think the matter over,” said he. “It is possible, at least, I may be able to serve madame with an _avant-coureur_.” Madame seized his hands in an emotional grasp. “My friend! my dear friend!” she murmured. “And now,” said Ned, “with madame’s permission, I will take a turn in the garden.” Had madame again the impression that she was “found out” of this unconscionable Joseph? She certainly flushed the little flush of shamefulness, and for the moment had not a plausible word at her command. For, indeed, she knew and, what was worse, believed that my lord knew that Pamela was at that very time seated by herself in the little box-arbour amongst the Jerusalem artichokes (the girl’s figure had been plainly visible through the doorway which madame had ordered over-late to be closed); and the sudden realisation of the situation was like a cold douche to her self-confidence. To deny this cavalier, on whatever pretext, the substance of his request, was assuredly to convict herself of having lied as to Pamela’s whereabouts; was to dismiss him at a critical moment; was, possibly, to deprive him of that actual inducement to serve her which an interview with the young lady might confirm. On the other hand, the girl herself may have profited by some indefinite warnings as to the folly of effecting a _mésalliance_; as to the ineffectiveness of a coronet when it is in pledge to the Jews. Madame, after a scarcely appreciable moment of hesitation, came to her decision with a charming smile. It was entirely at monsieur’s disposition, she said. There was not a soul in it, and she would see that monsieur was not disturbed. For herself, the contemplation of flowers resolved many problems that the subtlest sophistries were unable to disentangle.