where he can get it. The night is bitterly cold, with a snow blizzard
raging round. I and my men have been detailed to watch this road, other
patrols are guarding those that lead toward Boulogne and to Gravelines;
but I have an idea, citizen, that our fox is making for Calais, and that
to me will fall the honour of handing that tiresome scarlet flower to
the Public Prosecutor en route for Madame la Guillotine."

Now I could not really tell you, citizens, what suspicions had by this
time entered Hercule's head or mine; certainly what suspicions we did
have were still very vague.

I prepared the soup for the men and they ate it heartily, after which my
husband led the way to the outhouse where we sometimes stabled a
traveller's horse when the need arose.

It is nice and dry, and always filled with warm, fresh straw. The
entrance into it immediately faces the road; the corporal declared that
nothing would suit him and his men better.

They retired to rest apparently, but we noticed that two men remained on
the watch just inside the entrance, whilst the two others curled up in
the straw.

Hercule put out the lights in the coffee-room, and then he and I went
upstairs--not to bed, mind you--but to have a quiet talk together over
the events of the past half-hour.

The result of our talk was that ten minutes later my man quietly stole
downstairs and out of the house. He did not, however, go out by the
front door, but through a back way which, leading through a cabbage-