“We never saw our beloved master again. The whole country became convulsed, father rose against son, and son against father. Thank God! we all survived the convulsion here, except our poor priest and one or two of the small gentry. The former was killed in the streets of Havre—but you know enough of the horrors that took place. Years rolled by, and the estate of the Coulancourts fell to the nation, for they said the duke was a malignant and an aristocrat, and it went into neglect, for no one came near it. In these remote parts, we could not hear what had become of the duchess and her children. People were afraid to speak during the Reign of Terror. At length that ended, and we thanked God that we were spared. Time went on, and at last, to our intense joy, we had a message from Paris sent down to us to say that the duchess—or rather, madame, for titles were all extinguished in France—had been tried in Paris, and was declared innocent of every crime against the state; the rulers restored to her Coulancourt and some other property, but the great bulk of the duke’s estates the nation still retained. This was a relief to us all. Workmen were employed to restore the château, and madame expressed a wish that I would travel up to Paris to see her, and I did. Oh, mon Dieu! monsieur, how we wept when we saw each other! Ah! she was still beautiful, though thin and careworn. She was ignorant whether her child had reached England, and she dared not communicate with that country. She told me how she confided her daughter to a young and gallant lad, and that he had safely got her on board ship, for that good Monsieur Jean Plessis—no better man living—watched over her and madame with unceasing care. She told me that the officer’s name was Thornton, and that in the casket there were jewels of value, and nearly twenty thousand francs in gold, besides certificates of Mabel’s birth, her brother’s also, and of her own marriage with her first husband. “I stayed nearly a month in Paris with my mistress; she could scarcely bear to part with me, but said, when she could get leave, she would come and live in Coulancourt. She ordered her intendant, Monsieur Jean Plessis——” “Jean Plessis,” inquired our hero; “was he a married man?” “Yes, monsieur, and a very nice, pretty, good lady his wife is; and his daughter, she is nearly eighteen, is a remarkably pretty, clever demoiselle—plays the great piano in the saloon so nicely. She and her mother remain six months of the year here, and we keep up the place just as if madame herself was expected.” “Do you think a letter could be got safely to Madame Coulancourt?” asked our hero, anxiously. “Oh dear yes, monsieur, quite easily. My son writes to Monsieur Jean Plessis constantly; he could enclose one for madame.” “Then I will write this night. It will so ease her mind to hear all about Mabel; though it will grieve her to hear of the loss of the contents of the casket.”