Presently they stopped before the gateway of a large old house or small private "hôtel," with an untidy little courtyard. An old Frenchman, in quaint dress, grey-haired, with an imposing pig-tail, came to meet them, bowing profoundly to the gentlemen, and still more profoundly to Mrs. Baron. "C'est, sans doute, Monsieur le Colonel--et Madame----" Colonel Baron's particular gift did not lie in the direction of foreign languages. He never could talk French, and probably he never would, no matter how many years he might be compelled to live in France. "Oui, monsieur. Bon jour. C'est nous qui sont viendrai," he responded, feeling it incumbent on him to say something, as he descended from the old coach. "J'espère que vous êtes bien. Je suis bien aise que nous sommes haut--pas bas--pas près de le rivière. Bother their grammar, Denham; you can do it better than I. Just say what's suitable." Denham obeyed, and the next object which dawned upon Roy's perceptions was the sad and gentle face of Lucille de St. Roques. He seized her hand vehemently. "I say, mademoiselle, it's nice to find you here. Isn't it, Den? Mamma, this is Mademoiselle de St. Roques. Papa, you know she helped to nurse me after I'd had small-pox. Are we going to live upstairs, mademoiselle? Is that what it's to be? The whole upstairs, all to ourselves? What fun! Which way is it? Oh, I see! This way, mamma. Those poor horses do look tired, just half-starved, and so skinny. Is there a stable for them? Are we to have tea? Dinner! that's right. We didn't get half a dinner to-day, and I'm famished. What a droll old staircase? Do look out of this window, mamma." Roy's flow of spirits helped them all. The Colonel and his wife gratefully expressed their thanks to the French girl for her past kindness to their boy, both being much attracted by her face and her pretty manner as she led the way upstairs to the first floor. There stood Madame Courant, a fat and smiling little Frenchwoman, ready to bestow unlimited welcomes upon the unfortunate foreigners. Lucille had exchanged bows with Ivor at first, and then had a few words with him, scanning his face as she talked, with rather troubled glances. There was, however, small leisure at first for any quiet conversation. The rooms had to be inspected, and they were found to be not at all bad as to size, though meagrely furnished. Lucille had set her heart on making everything wear as far as possible an English look, using her childish recollections of a home across the Channel; and if she was less successful than she had hoped, nobody betrayed the fact. It was clear to them all how hard she had worked to render the place comfortable. "But it has been no trouble--non, vraiment--not at all," she assured them, with her pensive smile, when they apologised.