Amid such scenes as these the Comtesse de Valorme and Sylvia were passing now as gradually they drew near to Maestricht, where, as they had learnt, they would, even if they did not come into touch with some portion of the English army, at least discover something as to its whereabouts. They knew this, they had learnt it, by words overheard outside inns at which they halted at nights; by witnessing the frantic gestures and listening to the excited talk of the half-Brabant, half-Guelderland boors as they discussed the coming of the English and others. Also, they had learnt by now that to make their way easily along these roads it were best they should be anything but French; for the English were sweeping like a tornado through all the land, the French were in most instances retreating or fortifying themselves in old towns and castles; the English, for whom all Netherlanders had been looking so long, were at hand at last. Therefore, from now, neither Sylvia nor the Comtesse spoke in anything but English, excepting only when the native dialect was necessary to cause their desires to be understood, when Sylvia, whose long residence in Liége had enabled her to be well acquainted with the local dialects, used that. "There is no news of the approach of the allied forces as yet?" the Comtesse asked, as Sylvia, looking out of a carriage they had taken possession of when they had discarded the rough country _charrette_, drew in her head after a slight conversation with a peasant. "None," the girl answered wearily. "None. And during all this time they may have----" and she paused, shuddering. "Nay, dear heart," the Comtesse said, her English clear and distinct as it had been when she astonished Bevill by addressing him in it. "Nay, have no fear. I--I--extorted from De Violaine--Heaven help me! I was but endeavouring to play on his memories of the past for our, for your sake--the knowledge that he could not yet be brought to trial. I myself have no fear of that." "I myself cannot but have fears; for he has won my heart, my love. Oh! Radegonde, had it been you who loved him, you whom he loved, you could not be as calm as now you are." "It may be so," the Comtesse said softly. "Doubtless it would have been so had it chanced that I had learned to love him--if he had learned to love me," and then was silent. Something, however, some strange inflection in her voice caused Sylvia to look round at her companion, when, seeing that the Comtesse's face was averted, and that she was gazing out of the window, she added: "Ah! forgive me. Who am I, a girl who has but now found happiness in a man's love, to speak thus to you who have suffered so--to you whose own heart died with M. de Valorme?" But the Comtesse, beyond a whispered "Yes," said no more.