Once more they drove on, Roy gazing from side to side, noting the small insignificant shops, and exclaiming at occasional peeps of the river, with an interest which never failed him. The others were silent, and saw less. Mrs. Baron's eyes were dim; the Colonel was preoccupied; and Ivor, usually the most observant of men, seemed to notice nothing. Presently they stopped before the gateway of a large old house or small private hotel, with an untidy courtyard. An old Frenchman, in quaint dress, grey-haired, with an imposing pigtail, came to meet them, bowing profoundly to the gentlemen, and still more profoundly to Mrs. Baron. "C'est, sans doute, Monsieur le Colonel—et Madame." Colonel Baron's particular gift did not lie in foreign languages. He never could talk French, and he never would, no matter how many years he might live in France. "Oui, Monsieur. Bonjour. C'est nous qui sont viendrai," he responded, feeling it incumbent on him to say something, as he descended from the old coach. "J'espère que vous ètes bien. Je suis bien aise que nous sommes haut—pas bas—pas près de le rivière. Denham, you can do it better than I. Just say what's suitable." Denham obeyed, and the next sight which dawned upon them was the gentle face of Lucille de St. Roques. The Colonel and his wife gratefully expressed their thanks for her past kindness to their boy, as she led the way upstairs to the first floor. There stood Mme. Courant, a fat and smiling little Frenchwoman, ready to bestow unlimited welcomes upon the unfortunate foreigners. Lucille exchanged bows with Ivor, and then she had a few words with him, scanning his face with troubled glances. The rooms had to be inspected, and they were found to be not bad as to size, though meagrely furnished. Lucille had evidently worked hard, trying to make things wear as far as possible an English look. If her efforts were less successful than she wished, nobody betrayed the fact. "But it has been no trouble—not at all," she assured them, when they apologised. While anxious to help, and full of sympathy for their position, she plainly feared to be guilty of intrusion, and soon she took herself off with Mme. Courant to the ground floor. A clumsy but well-intentioned maiden had been deputed to wait upon the upstairs party, probably had been hired for the purpose, since Mme. Courant, an excellent bourgeoise, did most of her own house-work. Dinner was laid in the smaller salon, in readiness for their arrival; and on the whole that first meal might be called a success. Mme. Courant was no mean cook; and though not much could be said as to the waiting from an English point of view, that was a minor matter, compared with the comfort of clean and cosy quarters, not to speak of the kind reception.