"That I do," cried she. "He is a French priest, and was in Holland only by stealth, seeing that the people who live in Holland do hate the priests so much owing to their past sufferings. But Lucy told me his name, she did, ay, she told me when she was in England before they put her in the Tower. For my Lucy was a Catholic at heart, being brought to that way of thinking while she was in those foreign parts. He told her his name, and told her where he lived." "Ah," I said, "that is better. Tell me, good dame." "He lives at Boulogne," said the woman, "and his name is Father Pierre Rousseau, and I have been told that his church is the Church of St. Antony; but of that I am not sure." But here at last was something definite to go upon. Boulogne was only a few hours' sail from English shores, and if Father Pierre Rousseau lived there he could be easily found out. I imagined that it would be easy to find out whether the woman's story were true or false, and upon this discovery a plan of action could be formed. After this we fell to talking again, but beyond what I have written down, little of import could be gathered. I saw that much heed was paid to old wives' stories if they agreed with the desires of the women, but as to well proved facts there seemed nothing besides these two things. Still this was something. I could quickly find out whether Father Pierre Rousseau were flesh and blood, while the discovery of Master Elijah Pycroft should also be easy. Had I been older, and known more of the ways of the world, I should, I doubt not, have asked many more questions, but by this time my mind was all aflame with the prospect of something to do, while the nature of my work was all that a youth might ask for. Neither did I trouble much as to why I should be chosen. My father had told me that I should know some day, and with this I was fain content. I had a work to do, and that was enough. "It may be that this priest knows more than he has told you," I cried at length; "my first business therefore will be to go to Boulogne, and after that to seek out Master Elijah Pycroft." My father nodded his head approvingly, and yet I thought I saw doubt in his eyes. "But what about the coming of the king?" I went on. "You told me only to-day that we must go to Dover to meet him, and if he comes to England soon, there will be no time for me to set out on my journey before seeing him." "The king will not arrive for two weeks," replied my father. "Two weeks?" I said questioningly. "Ay, two weeks. This dame hath it, that according to messages which have been received in London town he will not come until the twenty-seventh or the twenty-eighth day of the month. There will therefore be time, if fortune favours you, to do much of your work before he comes hither." Now being hot of blood, and not being aware of the many things which might hinder me, I was content with this reply, and determined not to fail being at Dover when the king should land.