There could be no more eloquent evidence of my innocence in these days than was in the fact that I never wondered at the footing upon which these noisy men of the world were with a countrywoman of mine. The cause they often spoke of covered many mysteries; between the Rue de Paris and the Rue de la Boucherie I could have picked out a score of Scots in exile for their political faiths, and why should not Miss Walkinshaw be one of the company? But sometimes there was just the faintest hint of over-much freedom in their manner to her, and that I liked as little as she seemed to do, for when her face flushed and her mouth firmed, and she became studiously deaf, I felt ashamed of my sex, and could have retorted had not prudence dictated silence as the wisest policy. As for her, she was never but the minted metal, ringing true and decent, compelling order by a glance, gentle yet secure in her own strength, tolerant, but in bounds. They were that day full of the project for invading England. It had gone so far that soldiers at Calais and Boulogne were being practised in embarkation. I supposed she must have a certain favour for a step that was designed to benefit the cause wherefor I judged her an exile, but she laughed at the idea of Britain falling, as she said, to a parcel of _crapauds_. “Treason!” treason!” cried Thurot laughingly. “Under the circumstances, Madame----” “--Under the circumstances, Captain Thurot,” she interrupted quickly, “I need not pretend at a lie. This is not in the Prince's interest, this invasion, and it is a blow at a land I love. Mr. Greig here has just put it into my mind how good are the hearts there, how pleasant the tongue, and how much I love the very name of Scotland. I would be sorry to think of its end come to pleasure the women in Versailles.” “Bravo! bravo! _vive la bagatelle!_” cried my Lord Clancarty. “Gad! I sometimes feel the right old pathriot myself. Sure I have a good mind--” “Then 'tis not your own, my lord,” she cried quickly, displeasure in her expression, and Clancarty only bowed, not a whit abashed at the sarcasm. Father Hamilton drew me aside from these cheerful contentions, and plunged into the matter that was manifestly occupying all his thoughts since Miss Walkinshaw had mooted me as his secretary. “Monsieur Greig,” he said, placing his great carcase between me and the others in the room, “I declare that women are the seven plagues, and yet here we come chasing them from _petit lever_ till--till--well, till as late as the darlings will let us. By the Mass and Father Hamilton knows their value, and when a man talks to me about a woman and the love he bears her, I think 'tis a maniac shouting the praise of the snake that has crept to his breast to sting him. Women--chut!--now tell me what the mischief is a woman an' thou canst.”