"`Of course,' said Ludovic, `that is where I should have begun, instead of wasting time over my own affairs, stupid old man that I am. But you must forgive me, my good friends. Old age is garrulous, and finds it difficult to keep to the point. Where was I?' and he looked round feebly. "`You were saying,' said Pierre, trying to restrain his impatience, `how thankful you would be, were you assured that the Countess and her daughter were in safety like yourself; and I interrupted you entreating you to tell us where you believe them to be.' "`Where?' said Ludovic; `in Paris. At least, I fear it is unlikely that they will again have attempted to leave.' "`Attempted to leave it! Did they do so? and did they not succeed?' exclaimed the Germains together. "`Alas, no!' replied Ludovic, shaking his white head. `That is how I come to be here alone. I will tell you all. You have heard, no doubt, the principal events of this sad time. My lady has been longing to return to Valmont almost ever since she left it, but the Marquis has always opposed it. Two years ago she at last gained his consent, and was on the point of starting, when some one put it into his head that it was undignified, and would have a bad effect for any member of his family to leave his house, and as my lady could get no money except from him, and as she was also unwilling to anger him, she again gave in. He is the most obstinate man--even now he will not believe that there is any danger for him or his. And my lady at last came to see that if she is to get away, it must be without his assistance. All these weary months she has been waiting for an opportunity. At last, about three weeks ago, all seemed favourable. The Marquis was away for a day or two, with some of his friends, who, like him, have refused to take warning, and all arrangements had been made for my ladies and myself to start quietly. We were to travel in a small plain carriage, not likely to attract attention, which a friend of the Marquis's, less obstinate than he, and really concerned for the Countess and her daughter, had hired, with a driver he could trust. This gentleman,--how I do not know--had procured the necessary papers, which described the Countess as my daughter, returning to the country for her health. I was described as a shopkeeper of Tours. Well, we started--oh the joy of Mademoiselle Edmee! The only drawback was the poor boy Edmond, whom my lady dared not bring away, in face of his father's commands that he was to stay. She had already fought hard to get leave for him to accompany them when they _should_ leave--and who was heart-broken. At the last moment my lady got out of the carriage again to clasp him in her arms, and whisper some words of comfort; it caused a little delay; sometimes I have thought those three minutes might have saved us. It was not to be. I can hardly bear to tell you of our terrible disappointment. We had