"But I remember nothing after . . . after that awful cry . . . and the splash! I suppose my poor François fainted or fell asleep . . . and that he fell into the water. I never saw him again. . . . And I remember nothing until--until I found myself on board a ship with a lot of rough sailors around me, who seemed very kind. . . . They brought me ashore and took me to a nice warm place, where some English gentlemen took compassion on me. And . . . and . . . I have already told you the rest." She leaned back against the cushions of the seat as if exhausted with the prolonged effort. Her hands seemed quite cold now, almost blue, and Marguerite rose and closed the window behind her. "How kind and thoughtful you are!" the stranger exclaimed, and after a moment added with a weary sigh, "I must not trespass longer on your kindness. It is late now, and . . . I must go." She struggled to her feet, rose with obvious reluctance. "The inn where I was," she said. "It is not far?" "But you cannot go out alone," Marguerite rejoined. "You do not even know the way!" "Ah, no! But perhaps your servant could accompany me . . . only as far as the town. . . . After that, I can ask the way . . . I should no longer be frightened." "You speak English then, Madame?" "Oh, yes! My father was a diplomat. He was in England once for four years. I learned a little English. I have not forgotten it." "One of the servants shall certainly go with you. The inn you speak of must be _The Fisherman's Rest_, since you found English gentlemen there." "If Madame will allow me?" Sir Percy broke in, for the first time since the stranger had embarked upon her narrative. The stranger looked up at him with a half-shy, half-eager smile. "You, milor!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no! I would be ashamed----" She paused, and her cheeks became crimson whilst she looked down in utter confusion on her extraordinary attire. "I had forgotten," she murmured tearfully. "François made me put on these awful clothes when we left Paris." "Then I must lend you a cloak for to-night," Marguerite interposed with a smile. "But you need not mind your clothes, Madame. On this coast our people are used to seeing unfortunate fugitives landing in every sort of guise. To-morrow we must find you something wherein to travel to London." "To London?" the stranger said with some eagerness. "Yes! I would wish to go to London." "It will be quite easy. Mme. de Serval, with her son and two daughters and another friend, is travelling by the coach to-morrow. You could join them, I am sure. Then you would not be alone. You have money, Madame?" Marguerite concluded, with practical solicitude. "Oh, yes!" the other replied. "I have plenty for present needs . . . in a wallet . . . under my clothes. I was able to collect a little--and I have not lost it I am not dependent," she added, with a smile of gratitude. "And as soon as I have found my husband----" "Your husband?" Marguerite exclaimed.