“I could see that it was not my messenger, but a second one. Milord Hawkesbury caught the paper from his hand, and read it by the light of the carriage lamp. His face, monsieur, was as white as this plate, before he had finished. “‘Monsieur Otto,’ he cried, ‘we have signed this treaty upon a false understanding. Egypt is in our hands.’ “‘What!’ cried Monsieur Otto. ‘Impossible!’ “‘It is certain. It fell to Abercrombie last month.’ “‘In that case,’ said Monsieur Otto, ‘it is very fortunate that the treaty is signed.’ “‘Very fortunate for you, sir,’ cried Milord Hawkesbury, as he turned back to the house. “Next day, monsieur, what they call the Bow Street runners were after me, but they could not run across salt water, and Alphonse Lacour was receiving the congratulations of Monsieur Talleyrand and the First Consul before ever his pursuers had got as far as Dover.”