Nell put down her pail, took my arm, and marched me off. I was inclined to be offended, but she soothed me down as any woman can when she chooses. She assured me that both the engineer (whom she called Jack—probably Jacques was his name) and the commissary had taken a great fancy to me, and would undertake to teach me French if I would only go often enough. I had not the least objection to going, as I found prison experiences amusing, but I could not quite understand the bucket-carrying part of it. However, neither flattery nor a curiosity stimulus were unpleasing to me, so I went frequently. CHAPTER XIII. AWAY! AWAY! A couple of weeks passed away thus, when one morning we were awakened early by a clamour in the street. All Pembroke was in an uproar. All that I could distinguish of the cries was one exclamation, “The French!” Had they broken out, and were they going to sack the place? The panic reminded me of our feelings at Fishguard in the spring, but seemed more strange to me now, for in the interim I had become comparatively intimate with the foreigners, and had lost my fear of them. I jumped out of bed, dragged on a garment or two, and flung open my little lattice window. “Where are the French?” I yelled. “Away, away!” came the answer. “Clean gone.” The idea occurred to me that if they had gone away clean they must have been in a very different state to their usual condition; however, my reflections were disturbed by the sudden appearance of my Aunt Jane; she burst in head foremost. “Where’s Eleanor?” she gasped. “Where are the French?” I answered lightly, “Away, away!” “Are ye cursëd, boy, or only dull?” {223} queried my angry relative. “What d’ye mean?” “Nothing,” I answered; “only I know no more about Nell than I do about the French. Isn’t she in the shop?” “In the shop! My patience—she isn’t in the house, nor hasn’t been for hours. Her bed is cold; I doubt she never got into un, only topsy-turvied un a bit.” “Nellie really gone!” I was beginning to grasp the situation. “Oh, Aunt Jane; she must have gone with Jack.” “Who’s Jack, name o’ fortune? I heard tell of a Billy and a Tommy, but norra Jack.” “Oh, this wasn’t a Pembroke Jack, but Mounseer Jacques Roux, Esq., an engineer.” “A Mounseer!” Words failed my venerable relative; she sat down and went off into hysterics, which brought Aunt Rebecca to the rescue, and in the confusion I sidled down the stairs and escaped.