"This is truly a doleful state of things, ma'am," the Admiral observed, turning his attention first, as in duty bound, to the elder lady. "Who could have thought it? Dear, dear me; 'tis prodigiously sad. I vow there was never such a being as this First Consul since the world was created. But cheer up, ma'am, and pretty Polly too. Things will come right in time, there's no sort of doubt." "'Tis a puzzle to us all," pretty Polly remarked, more anxious for precise information than for general abuse of Napoleon, however well deserved. "Is Colonel Baron indeed a prisoner? And Mrs. Baron and Roy? And--Captain Ivor?" "Nay; not altogether so bad as that. The First Consul may be but a few degrees removed from a fiend, 'tis true; yet even he does not war with women and school-boys. Mrs. Baron is surely free to return when she will, and to bring Roy with her. 'Tis Colonel Baron and Captain Ivor who are to be accounted prisoners of war! An atrocious deed! But being both in His Majesty's Army, they have, I fear, no chance of getting off. Cheer up!" as Polly's tears began to flow. "'Tis but for a while. Just one of the chances of war; though 'tis a mighty shame it should be so, with harmless and innocent travellers, taking their pleasure abroad. But our Government will protest; and it may be Boney will think better of what he has done. Eh, Jack?" "It says, Admiral--it says, my dear Jack----" Mrs. Fairbank knitted furiously as she spoke--"it says, in that most iniquitous paper----" "Right, right!" nodded the Admiral. "The paper in truth is iniquitous!" "That"--pursued Mrs. Fairbank, getting unexpectedly choky, and dropping stitches by the bushel, as her eyes fell on the pitiful faces of Polly and Molly--"that '_all_ the English, from the age of eighteen to sixty'--all--not men only!" "Nay, nay, nay; it signifies men only, not women. None but savages fight against women," declared the Admiral, with vigour. "They will be right enough, my dear madam. 'Tis only the Colonel and the Captain who are included." That "only" sounded hard to Polly, though it was meant in all kindness. The good Admiral was doing his best to cast a gleam of sunshine on the cloudy prospect. Before anyone could answer him, the door opened, and in sailed Mrs. Bryce, followed by her husband. Mrs. Bryce was looking her gayest, as befitted a fashionable visitor to fashionable Bath. When once Mrs. Bryce had come upon the scene, other people would not have a chance of saying much.