The émigré was about to protest, when it occurred to him that she might conceivably indicate the same route as that taken by Anne and his escort, which it would be a great convenience to know, since his mind was entirely set on overtaking them before they got to Paris. It need hardly be said that he had no intention of putting foot in that city if he could possibly avoid it. Mlle. de Chaulnes passed the document to her sister-in-law, who read it through carefully. "Excellent," she said. "I fear, M. Augustin, that you will not henceforward derive much immunity from the inaccuracy of the Convention's previous description of your person. You have taken a copy, Angèle?" "Yes," said the younger lady. Mme. de Chaulnes folded the passport, and gave it, together with Anne-Hilarion's safe-conduct back to England, to the prospective rescuer. "Voilà, Monsieur!" she said. "Take that to the Committee of Public Safety and you will find that it will do what you wish for the child. You need have no fear that it will not, for the Committee is something in our debt. But I take leave to doubt if your intentions are quite as heroic as they appear." "I lay claim to no heroism of any kind," said La Vireville shortly, and, putting the papers in his breast, he took up his wet cloak. Mme. de Chaulnes meanwhile had, for the first time, got to her feet, and stood leaning upon her stick. "Of course, M. le Chevalier, you do not think we are so blind as not to know what you mean to do. But, believe me, you will never be able to do it. For one thing, you will not be able to overtake them before Paris. They have twenty-four hours' start of you." "Madame," retorted Fortuné de la Vireville, his hand on the latch of the door, "some have thought that children are peculiarly the objects of angelic protection. We shall see about that twenty-four hours' start!" As he shut the door he was aware of a little laugh, and the words, in a voice of mock surprise, "Monsieur est donc dévot?" * * * * * Dévot indeed La Vireville was not, and no real confidence in celestial intervention, but wrath and dismay filled his heart as he rode off in the rain and the darkness. But it was not in him to show other than a bold front to an enemy, whatever his secret apprehensions. It was not very likely that he would be able to get the boy out of the hands of his captors without, himself, paying the ultimate penalty. Still, there was a chance, and he meant to stake everything upon it. Only, as he hastened to the _Rose and Crown_ to change his horse, it occurred to him most unpleasantly that perhaps he was being utterly duped; that Anne-Hilarion had, perhaps, never been taken to France after all, and that he was going to put his head into the lion's mouth for nothing. And he cursed the maddening uncertainty of the whole affair, where the only fact that stood out with real clearness was the jeopardy in which he was about to place his own neck.