"Read this," said the Vicomte, thrusting the letter into his hands. "It could hardly be worse. D'Hervilly attacked the Republican position at Ste. Barbe five days ago, and was beaten off with frightful loss. God knows what has happened by now, what has happened to René--the worst, I have small doubt. . . ." Mr. Elphinstone unfolded the letter with shaking hands. But ere he had got to the bottom of the first page, Anne-Hilarion was at his side, pulling at his sleeve. "Grandpapa, I want to tell you a secret!" "In a moment, child," said Mr. Elphinstone, his eyes on the letter. "But it is very important," persisted Anne. "It is about Papa--at least it is about Elspeth." For once he was not to be put off. The old man yielded. "Well, my bairn?" "I want to whisper," said Anne. So his grandfather bent down and received the following revelation, "I prayed to my ange gardien about Elspeth." "To make her better, do you mean?" "No--it was before she fell down--to make her let me go and see M. de Soucy." "Well?" said Mr. Elphinstone, still more perplexed. "Eh bien, he arranged it," said the successful petitioner, in a tone of satisfaction. "He pushed Elspeth, no doubt, that she slipped on the stairs, and so I was able to go. I did not _ask_ him to make her slip, Grandpapa," he hastened to add. But still the old man did not realise whither all this was tending. The Vicomte de Soucy also, his threadbare coat showing very greenish in the strong light near the window, was looking at the little boy with puzzled, unhappy eyes. "So now," proceeded Anne, "since I have asked St. Michel himself to take care of Papa--did I not, M. le Vicomte?--he will be quite safe, and I do not want any more to go to France. That is the secret, Grandpapa--and when you have finished reading that letter will you show me the elephants?" "If Elspeth can be disposed of by the heavenly powers, even the Blues are not beyond their control--is that it?" observed M. de Soucy with a grating laugh, half to Mr. Elphinstone and half to the child. "Good God, if only one could believe it!" As Anne, his mind at ease, climbed up into his grandfather's chair by the table with a view to the elephants, Mr. Elphinstone finished and let fall the letter, his apple cheeks gone grey. Then he turned without a word to the window and stood there, his back to the room, while into the silence came, with a strange little effect of calamity, the sound of a scud of summer rain beating against the glass. (5)