Crystal de Cambray, standing on the perron of her stately home, felt but little sorrow at leaving it to-day: she had hardly had the time in one brief year to get very much attached to it: the sense of unreality which had been born in her when her father led her through its vast halls and stately parks had never entirely left her. The little home in England, the tiny sitting-room with its bow window, and small front garden edged with dusty evergreens, was far more real to her even now. She felt as if the last year with its pomp and gloomy magnificence was all a dream and that she was once more on the threshold of reality now, on the point of waking, when she would find herself once more in her narrow iron bed and see the patched and darned muslin curtains gently waving in the draught. But for the moment she was glad enough to give herself to the delight of this sudden consciousness of freedom. She sniffed the sharp, frosty air with dilated nostrils like a young Arab filly that scents the illimitable vastness of meadowland around her. The excitement of the coming adventure thrilled her: she watched with glowing eyes the preparations for the journey, the bestowal under the cushions of the carriage of the money which was to help King Louis to preserve his throne. In a sense she was sorry that her father and her aunt were coming too. She would have loved to fly across country as a trusted servant of her King; but when the time came to make a start she took her place in the big travelling coach with a light heart and a merry face. She was so sure of the justice of the King's cause, so convinced of God's wrath against the usurper, that she had no room in her thoughts for apprehension or sadness. The Comte de Cambray on the other hand was grave and taciturn. He had spent hours last evening on the ramparts of Grenoble. He had watched the dissatisfaction of the troops grow into open rebellion and from that to burning enthusiasm for the Corsican ogre. St. Genis had given him a vivid account of the encounter at Laffray, and his ears were still ringing with the cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" which had filled the streets and ramparts of Grenoble until he himself fled back to his own château, sickened at all that he had seen and heard. He knew that the King's own brother, M. le Comte d'Artois, was at Lyons even now with forty thousand men who were reputed to be loyal, but were not the troops of Grenoble reputed to be loyal too? and was it likely that the regiments at Lyons would behave so very differently to those at Grenoble? Thus the wearisome journey northwards in the lumbering carriage proceeded mostly in silence. None of the occupants seemed to have much to say. Mme. la Duchesse d'Agen and M. le Comte sat on the back seats leaning against the cushions; Crystal de Cambray and ever-faithful Jeanne sat in front, making themselves as comfortable as they could.