toast; seeing yourself, Mademoiselle Suzanne and my friend the Vicomte
safely in England now, surely you must feel reasurred as to the fate of
Monsieur le Comte."

"Ah, Monsieur," replied the Comtesse, with a heavy sigh, "I trust in
God--I can but pray--and hope . . ."

"Aye, Madame!" here interposed Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, "trust in God by all
means, but believe also a little in your English friends, who have sworn
to bring the Count safely across the Channel, even as they have brought
you to-day."

"Indeed, indeed, Monsieur," she replied, "I have the fullest confidence
in you and your friends. Your fame, I assure you, has spread throughout
the whole of France. The way some of my own friends have escaped from
the clutches of that awful revolutionary tribunal was nothing short of a
miracle--and all done by you and your friends--"

"We were but the hands, Madame la Comtesse . . ."

"But my husband, Monsieur," said the Comtesse, whilst unshed tears
seemed to veil her voice, "he is in such deadly peril--I would never
have left him, only . . . there were my children . . . I was torn between
my duty to him, and to them. They refused to go without me . . . and you
and your friends assured me so solemnly that my husband would be safe.
But, oh! now that I am here--amongst you all--in this beautiful, free
England--I think of him, flying for his life, hunted like a poor beast
. . . in such peril . . . Ah! I should not have left him . . . I should not
have left him! . . ."