The young man started, and flushed in the cheek. “Pale, thin, interesting child!” Those were his own words! He looked at Mademoiselle Plessis, but she was quite demure; and her friend was gazing at the road. The sound of carriage-wheels caused them to turn round, and then they beheld the berlin coming towards them, to which two horses were harnessed. “Ah! there is our voiture, and our cowardly postillion,” said Mademoiselle Plessis; “I do hate a coward: the handsomest man in the world would be contemptible in my eyes if he showed the white feather. But it is pardonable in our sex,” she added, with a gay laugh; “is it not, Monsieur de Tourville?” “It becomes an attraction,” said the Lieutenant, gaily; “it ensures our sex the attention which we might not otherwise be favoured with.” “You do us wrong there, monsieur,” said Mademoiselle de Tourville, in a low voice. The carriage stopped beside them, and Monsieur Plessis jumped out. Lieutenant Thornton assisted the two girls into the vehicle, and then, when Monsieur Plessis wished him to get in, he declined, saying he would walk, as Bill Saunders was with him, and he wished to go back for the fishing-rod he had left on the side of the stream. Monsieur Plessis considered a moment, and then replied— “You are right; so farewell, monsieur, for an hour or two.” As the Lieutenant was closing the door, his eyes met those of Mademoiselle de Tourville, who observed, with no little agitation— “Indeed, monsieur, you incur a risk: suppose those horrid men still lurk in the wood!” “There is no fear of that,” said Jean Plessis; “the peasantry are roused, and these villains will either be taken or get out of the country as fast as they can.” CHAPTER XXII. Our hero, followed by Bill Saunders—who was extremely puzzled to understand what had recently taken place, and turning over in his own mind what might be the consequence of living in the château with such lots of handsome girls, who seemed to him to be increasing daily—proceeded to the place where he had thrown down his rod. Bill in vain tried to edge in a word; his master was not to be roused from his train of reflections. “Is this love at first sight?” asked our hero of himself; “for never did I feel the same strange and unaccountable sensation for a beautiful girl before. I have been in love a dozen times, or, at least, fancied I was; but this is a very different feeling. I used to laugh at the idea of the most beautiful face in the world causing any other sensation at first sight than that of anything else very lovely. No, it will not do to fall in love with a French girl, in my position; and its very clear, if I do not make my escape, I shall do so.” “My eyes, sir! where’s the rod?” exclaimed Bill, having arrived at the precise spot.