"My Bertrand," so the letter ran, "Jacques is going to France. Nothing will keep him back. He says it is his duty. I think that he is mad, and I know that it will kill maman. So I go with him. Perhaps at the last--at Dover--my tears and entreaties might yet prevail. If not, and he puts this senseless project in execution, I can watch over him there, and perhaps save him from too glaring a folly. We go by the coach to Dover, which starts in an hour's time. Farewell, my beloved, and forgive me for causing you this anxiety; but I feel that Jacques has more need of me than you." Below the signature "Régine de Serval" there were a few more lines, written as if with an afterthought: "I have told maman that my employer is sending me down into the country about some dresses for an important customer, and that as Jacques can get a few days' leave from his work, I am taking him with me, for I feel the country air would do him good. "Maman will be astonished and no doubt hurt that Jacques did not send her a word of farewell, but it is best that she should not learn the truth too suddenly. If we do not return from Dover within the week, you will have to break the news as gently as you can." Whilst Marguerite read the letter, Bertrand had sunk upon the seat and buried his head in his hands. He looked utterly dejected and forlorn, and she felt a twinge of remorse at thought how she had been wronging him all this while by doubting his love for Régine. She placed a kindly hand on the young man's shoulder. "What was your idea," she asked, "in coming to me? What can I do?" "Give me advice, milady!" he implored. "I am so helpless, so friendless. When I had the letter, I could think of nothing at first. You see, Régine and Jacques started early this morning, by the coach from London, long before I had it. I thought you could tell me what to do, how to overtake them. Régine loves me--oh, she loves me! If I knelt at her feet I could bring her back. But they are marked people, those two. The moment they attempt to enter Paris, they will be recognised, arrested. Oh, my God! have mercy on us all!" "You think you can persuade Régine, M. Moncrif?" "I am sure," he asserted firmly. "And you, milady! Régine thinks the whole world of you!" "But there is the boy--Jacques!" "He is just a child--he acted on impulse--and I always had great authority over him. And you, milady! The whole family worship you! . . . They know what they owe to you. Jacques has not thought of his mother; but if he did----" Marguerite rose without another word. "Very well," she said simply. "Well go together and see what we can do with those two obstinate young folk." Bertrand gave a gasp of surprise and of hope. His whole face lighted up and he gazed upon the beautiful woman before him as a worshipper would on his divinity. "You, milady?" he murmured. "You would . . . really . . . help me . . . like that?" Marguerite smiled.