“Were they robbers, Monsieur Plessis?” “Not common robbers, certainly,” returned the intendant, “for I am told there are none in these parts; but we shall hear more about them by-and-by.” The two young girls then walked gently on, our hero keeping by the side of Mademoiselle Tourville. “You selected a very pleasant mode of travelling, ladies,” remarked our hero, breaking the silence; “I have heard that the windings of the Seine, and the banks of the country on each side are extremely beautiful.” “We enjoyed the sailing part of our journey very much,” replied the daughter of the Intendant, “but we did not travel all the way from Paris by water; Madame Coulancourt’s carriage took us to Morlins, and thence we travelled to Rouen.” “I trust you left Madame Coulancourt quite well,” said the Lieutenant. “Thank you; quite well,” returned Mademoiselle Tourville, with a voice less agitated; and looking up, the extreme paleness of her countenance passing off, a slight tinge of returning colour was visible on her cheek. “We have letters and a parcel for you, Monsieur Thornton.” “You forget,” said the Lieutenant—struck by the tone of her voice, and the different accent in which she spoke the French language from her friend—“you forget I must accustom myself to the name of Tourville, and that I am your brother. May I ask, have you a brother?” “I hope so,” returned the young girl, with a good deal of emotion; “but I can only say I trust Providence has preserved him. The terrible Revolution separated us, and since then we have had no certain information concerning him.” “Such has been the lot of many a brother and sister, mademoiselle,” said the Lieutenant. “Madame Coulancourt must have told you that she lost a beloved son, and was forced to separate, also, from a daughter she dearly loved.” “We heard of that event,” returned Mademoiselle de Tourville, and, in a voice tremulous with emotion, and letting her eyes, in which there were tears, rest upon the ground—“and how you, monsieur, though merely a youth, bravely protected madame’s little girl, and took her safely to England.” “What is it,” said our hero, communing with his own thoughts, “that so strangely stirs up recollections of the past, and makes me feel so agitated when I hear the sound of this girl’s voice, and gaze into her beautiful eyes? Mabel was but a child, and yet those large eyes of hers spoke to the heart even then.” “You seem very thoughtful, Monsieur de Tourville,” said Mademoiselle Plessis, with a curious smile upon her short, pretty lip. “Are you thinking of Madame de Coulancourt’s beautiful daughter, for a letter was read to us from a Madame Volney, which stated that Mademoiselle Mabel, from being only a ‘pale, thin, interesting child, had grown into a lovely young woman?’”