Above all things he must see that the little girl kept her cheer and courage. “Tha’ll be running races with him some day in the land o’ Yorkshire,” he said as he threw his cloak over his shoulder and went out. He stood uncertainly for some moments on the corner of the rue Saint Antoine in a swirl of snow. Sounds of rough, brawling voices came down the dark street. The snow was black with the ashes and smoke from near-by forges where guns were being made for the army. Humphrey stepped inside a small café at the end of the street and, seating himself at a rude table near the door, ordered a glass of hot ale. He had never attempted any disguise. He was just an honest farmer and taken for such by any one who took the trouble to notice him. Few would have thought him to be other than French until they heard him speak. There were many out-of-towners in the city at that time, market farmers, well-to-do villagers, all eager to join in the talk and wrangle of the day, each with his own especial plan or grievance, all ardent Republicans. Humphrey listened to a group who sat near him, rough, unkempt men of the Saint Antoine district. He had made it a practice, during the last fortnight, of dropping in here and there and listening to the talk going on around him. He sipped his hot ale, listening intently, but his knowledge of French was so meager that he could only catch a word here and there. “They think they’re mighty fine, those aristos living snugly in their grand houses in the country. They think their fields and cattle and their hired slaves will save them. Well, they’ll sing another song soon. They’ll not stay long in hiding. They’ll be hunted out, root and branch, all of them!” Loud laughter and applause greeted the end of this harangue. After putting down the coins to pay for his drink, Humphrey went out into the wintry night. He had heard something which gave him food for thought, and he felt that it would ease his mind to walk about the city. He was restless, but his discouragement had given place to alertness. There was so much to do that he had not a moment for brooding. For a week or more he had been wondering how it was with Lisle’s family at Pigeon Valley. The day after Lisle’s disappearance he had gone to the Marquise du Ganne’s house. Rosanne knew the house well, having gone there on state occasions with Marie Josephine. She was able to give Humphrey a fair idea of how to find it. She told him that the coat of arms on the door was different from that of the Saint Frères’. It was a shield with two swords crossed in the middle. He had found the house, but he had found, also, two soldiers of the Republic stationed in front of it. He had stopped and spoken to them. “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, citizen,” he had said, and they had answered, “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, citizen.”