“It is wrong thus to waste valuable time, by giving way to recollections of events that cannot be recalled. This morning I made up my mind how to act, after consulting with Monsieur Jean Plessis. This faithful friend of my unfortunate husband saved my life and my child’s life, risking not only his own existence, but the safety of a wife and child dear to him. He was Monsieur le Duke’s intendant and then mine; but he is a man of good family, and at one time had considerable property; but, like many alas! in this land, stripped of all—of everything—save his noble devotion to me and mine. He procured these garments for my little girl, and agreed with me in my intention of confiding her to the care of the English officer, who was expected from the Admiral’s ship. Dressed thus, she may more easily pass through the town with you and thus gain the boat, and to-night Monsieur Plessis says he is pretty certain he will be able to get me disguised to the beach of the outer harbour, where there is a ruined quay that juts out into the sea; and where, as you row along the shore in your boat, you may be able to take me in without attracting observation. Still I prefer my little girl going with you, because I am sure it will ensure her escape from this land of misery. Whereas a few hours hence—nay, the very result of the meeting now taking place—may rouse a furious bloodthirsty mob into sedition and outrage, for there are a hundred of the followers and spies of the atrocious Collet de Herbois in the town at this moment, leading the easily excited lower order into revolutionary excesses.” “Your daughter will be quite safe in the boat, madame,” said the midshipman earnestly, “and I know that every protection will be afforded her when we reach the Victory. Perhaps, madame, if you make the attempt you will succeed in getting safely to the boat now, whilst the mass of the people surround the council chamber.” “No! no!” said the Duchess sadly, “the risk of being recognised in broad daylight by some of the spies of De Herbois would be too great. Ah! young sir, if you only knew a hundredth part of the horrors and sufferings this dear child and I went through whilst in the power of those monsters who rule this once fair land, you would, like us, shudder at the very idea of again falling into their hands. Attired as my child is, she will escape notice walking by your side, whereas should an agent of De Herbois recognise me, we should be both lost.” Madame Coulancourt then rose and took from a table a casket, closing the lid as she placed it beside our hero, and locking it with a very peculiar key. It was a work of foreign manufacture, and beautifully clasped with silver, chased. “I wish you, also, Master Thornton,” continued Madame Coulancourt, “to take charge of this casket; for should it be the will of Heaven that I should be unable to rejoin my child—”