After awhile he rose, and she allowed him to lead her to an arm-chair by the hearth. She sat down, and he knelt at her feet with one arm around her waist, and his head against her breast. He had never in his life been quite so exquisitely happy. This was not the imperious Theresia, impatient and disdainful, as she had been of late--cruel even sometimes, as on that last evening when he thought he would never see her again. It was the Theresia of the early days in Paris, when first she came back from Bordeaux, with a reputation for idealism as well as for beauty and wit, and with a gracious acceptance of his homage which had completely subjugated him. She insisted on hearing every detail of his escape out of Paris and out of France, under the protection of the League and of the Scarlet Pimpernel. In truth, he did not know who his rescuer was. He remembered but little of that awful night when, after the terrible doings at the Fraternal Supper, he had sought refuge in her apartment, and then realised that, like a criminal and selfish fool, he was compromising her precious life by remaining under her roof. He had resolved to go as soon as he was able to stand--resolved if need be to give himself up at the nearest Poste de Section, when in a semi-conscious state he became aware that some one was in the room with him. He had not the time or the power to rouse himself and to look about, when a cloth was thrown over his face and he felt himself lifted off the chair bodily and carried away by powerful arms, whither he knew not. After that, a great deal had happened--it all seemed indeed like a dream. At one time he was with Régine de Serval in a coach; at others with her brother Jacques, in a hut at night, lying on straw, trying to get some sleep, and tortured with thoughts of Theresia and fear for her safety. There were halts and delays, and rushes through the night. He himself was quite dazed, felt like a puppet that was dragged hither and thither in complete unconsciousness. Régine was constantly with him. She did her best to comfort him, would try to wile away the weary hours in the coach or in various hiding-places by holding his hand and talking of the future--the happy future in England, when they would have a home of their own, secure from the terrors of the past two years, peaceful in complete oblivion of the cruel past. Happy and peaceful! My God! As if there could be any happiness or peace for him, away from the woman he worshipped! Theresia listened to the tale, for the most part in silence. From time to time she would stroke his hair and forehead with her cool, gentle hand. She did ask one or two questions, but these chiefly on the subject of his rescuer: Had he seen him? Had he seen any of the English gentlemen who effected his escape?