risk than staying here, not that you think of that, I know, and it is the best service you can at present render me and my child. Alone you will have, I am assured, little difficulty in making your way. Here is all the money I have been able to collect; to give you any of my jewels would but expose you to suspicion; take it and go. And arrived at Valmont, seek at once my dear Germains. If by the end of this month they or you have no news of me--then I fear, it will not mean good news--then, I must trust to them to consider if in any way they can help me, or still more my child. Should my brother be taken, I have a plan in my head, for concealing ourselves here in Paris, till we can venture to try to escape. And Germain is a shrewd and clever man. I fancy there would be no risk for _him_ in coming to Paris, and if he knows we are in danger, I believe nothing would keep him from attempting it. With his help and strong arm, we might manage a safe disguise. Should we succeed, as my brother hopes, in all leaving Paris together, I shall find means of letting you know at Valmont. Should we fail I shall still hope to conceal myself and Edmee, though at present I cannot make any detailed plan. One thing I may tell you"--and here my lady lowered her voice--"the _only_ person I trust here is Marguerite Ribou. And now, my good Ludovic, the sooner you leave the better. The Marquis has no idea at present of my attempting anything. It will be time enough for me to tell him you are gone when you are beyond recall." And then,' continued Ludovic, `she held out her hand; I kissed it, in weeping you may be sure, and I obeyed her. That night I spent in a little tavern near the barriers, and I got out the next morning without difficulty. And here-- here at last, after all my troubles, I am! I have told you, I think, my lady's exact words. It is now--is it not?--near the end of September?' "`The twentieth,' replied Pierre. "`And you have no news?' "`Not a word,' said Germain. "`Then,' said old Ludovic, `it is for you to decide what can be done. A few days still--a few days perhaps we can wait. It will give me time to recover my old wits a little, if it brings no news from our poor ladies.'" CHAPTER NINE. "Long after poor old Ludovic was in bed and asleep that night, the Germains sat up talking over all he had told them. "`To-morrow will be the twenty-first of September,' said old Germain thoughtfully; `that makes nine days more to wait--' "`But should we wait, father,' exclaimed Pierre. `I feel so certain no news will come, and every day, every hour, it is so much time lost--can we not set off at once? Father, mother, let me go! I am so young and strong--fatigue is nothing to me, and father is not so strong as he was,' which was true, for rheumatism, that sad enemy of those whose duties force them to be out in all weather, had already more than once, for weeks at a time, crippled the forester's active limbs.