“Your son, madame, left the château yesterday evening with a boy named Joseph. Before this time he is safely arrested, and it remains with me to consign him to a prison, perhaps for years. He, you know, is an Englishman by birth, and I am aware and have proof of his interviews with Lieutenant Thornton, who is one of the most determined officers in the navy of England, and the same who, with Sir Sidney Smith, attempted to cut out the famous privateer, Vengeance, and again last night did actually carry her and an armed brig off, in which act your son was to have been an accomplice.” This was in truth a severe trial for Madame Coulancourt: of all things she had dreaded her son’s recognition, and his falling into the hands of her enemies. From his having served, though against his will, in the French naval service, and his desertion from it, which was quite natural, his sentence, if it depended on the Government, might be death. Madame Coulancourt very plainly perceived that all the movements in the château were betrayed; that there was a concealed enemy amongst them, or a bribed spy. Seeing, by madame’s pale, expressive features, that his last untrue assertion had greatly alarmed her, inwardly exulting, Gramont observed, with apparent calmness and kindness of tone— “You see, madame, the position in which I stand as maire of this arrondissement. It is my bounden duty to preserve the district from the insidious and piratical designs of the English who infest our coast; destroying our ships even in our harbours; and the very men who commit these acts have been protected in this very château more than a month. What would be said of my conduct and vigilance if these facts were brought against me? On one condition I can release your son, allow his escape to England, and destroy the accusations against yourself; and, if you desire it, aid and ensure your own escape to England with your son.” “And what, Monsieur Gramont,” said Madame Coulancourt, eagerly, her heart beating with anxiety for her children, “what do you require of me for such services?” “Plainly, then, madame, the hand of your daughter, Mabel Arden.” The astonished mother started from her chair with an agonised look; her lips pale with the agitation she experienced. Before she could utter a word the door of the adjoining room opened, and Mabel Arden entered the saloon; her beautiful features calm and self-possessed, with her fine and graceful figure erect, she passed before the startled Monsieur Gramont, who instantly rose from his chair, making a confused salutation at the same time. The mother also looked at her daughter, for she was not aware that Mabel had been in the library.