The next moment the boat’s keel touched the beach, close beside a ruined quay. A man came forward. The midshipman knew him at once; it was Jean Plessis. Mabel threw off her cloak, exclaiming eagerly, in French— “Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Where is mamma, Monsieur Jean Plessis?” The man sprang into the boat, saying, “Make way out of the harbour, monsieur; we are betrayed. I will explain—ha! there goes a gun.” The same moment a ball struck the ruined wall some four paces from them, knocking a heap of rubbish about, and covering them with a cloud of splinters. “Push off—by Jove! that’s close shaving!”—said Lieutenant Cooke; “and give way with a will.” On flew the light boat, and again a flash, and a prolonged report pealed over the water, the shot drenching them with spray, as it actually bounded over them, and tore along the beach afterwards; but, vigorously urged along by the hardy crew, they turned a long, projecting point of high rock, that effectually sheltered them from further danger. The agonised Mabel, bursting into tears, implored Jean Plessis to say what had become of her mother. “My poor child,” said the Frenchman, with great feeling in voice and manner, “don’t be alarmed; there is no fear of the Duchess’s life, but they have carried her off.” “Oh, my God! I shall never see mamma again. Why, why did I leave her? If they have taken her away they would have taken me too.” “How has this occurred?” said Lieutenant Cooke, while the midshipman strove to soothe the weeping girl. “I will tell you, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis, “and then you must put me on shore, for I will never cease till I trace madame to where her enemies have taken her. She has not been, I feel certain, carried off by the revolutionary party, but by private enemies, who have contrived to track us to Toulon.” “Why do you think that, Monsieur Plessis?” asked Lieutenant Cooke. “I will tell you, monsieur,” replied the Frenchman. “We had scarcely passed the gates, and were making the best of our way to gain the appointed spot—the ruined quay—when from behind a low hedge half-a-dozen men sprang out. I was instantly knocked down by a blow from the butt end of a carbine, and rolled into a ditch. I was quite sensible, but remained still. They had seized the Duchess; she did not scream nor attempt to fly. I then heard one of the men say, ‘Bring up the Berlin;’ the next moment a calèche with two horses came out from behind the hedge through a gateway. Madame was put inside, and then the same man said, ‘Parbleu! I forgot; have you finished that fellow Plessis? Do not leave him to be hunting us out, I pray you; it’s bad enough to lose the little girl.’ As soon as I heard these words, I crept along the ditch, and fled as fast as I could, to save those villains the trouble of knocking me on the head.” “Have you any idea,” said Lieutenant Cooke, “who these ruffians are?”