knocking on the door, St. Georges sprang off t

ale voice answered. "Mon

asked St. Georges, perceiving that

the bishop's farms at Pouil

the b

re is a meal prepared for monsieur

e ere leaving the room-as to drink a cup of thick, lukewarm chocolate. But beyond this he would wait no longer, being very anxious to regain the custody of his child. Also he thought that the "Ours" woul

n who had called him, and who afterward escorted him downstairs, and, following h

space in great tussocks, or mounds, while across the place itself no footmark was to be seen. It was,

e inn he could see the smoke, scarcely more dull and leaden than that canopy itself, rising; at th

he drew close to him now.

oke-"all well, both with child and horse. Yet, ma foi! wha

route to Paris, to report myself to the Minister of War, the Marquis de Louvois." Then tu

I doubt if we get even so far as Bar. C

rine, had slept well, the patronne said, had lain snug and close with two of her own all t

true woman," St. Georges

erself and had a mother's heart within her; she only wished monsieur would leave the little t

rom that which the bishop's servant had been able to set before him-and she ministered to his wants, "unles

Nay," she continued, "if I might make so bold, meaning no offence, find a new mother for her. It would be a sad life

ully there was no other wife for him; a statement f

be safe. A woman of Dijon like herself, married and settled in Paris; married, indeed, to a cousin of her late husband, who, rest his soul! had been dead eighteen months. This woman'

sed a moment, reflecting deeply and looking round the kitchen, as though to see that they were alone

abe. Will you answer me, therefore, a question? Will-will-suppose, I would say, that I wished the whereabouts of this, my child, unknown to any one-would she be safe in the house of this mercer you speak of? Also-if you-should be asked by

hen I went to arouse them ere dawn they all lay cheek to cheek, and with their ar

What you have said is enough. I trust you as I should have trusted h

leon. That is sufficient. His wife Susanne will arrange with you fo

y she will not accept me on my own assurances. Besides, 'tis much to ask. She will sc

gh truly she need not have done so, since in all Burgundy, in the days of Louis le Dieudonné, not one in a hundred could do m

she will know to have been yours," exclaimed the mousqueta

ound the great stone-floor kitchen and seeing nothing therein that she could send to her friend, s

saying that, though I could not follow the service with it, m

said to the mousquetaire: "Friend, if you have still a mind to depart, let us set out. Yet I would

ready; my horse has rested for two days; at least we can g

all up and ready for their breakfast-some little sums to buy things with; and so he bade the woman farewell, thanking he

ting you know of her welfare. Burgundy is far from Paris, yet there is always

lives near here-not a league away-send through him. He corresponds often with her an

ought down from the room she slept in his little child-who prattled in her baby way to him while her soft blue eyes

where she is? Why keep her existence a secret? Surely there

t her from his great height as tho

all be in safety out of France or I can be ever near to guard and watch over her; for her life-after mine-stands in the path of others' gree

e her hand into the folds of his cloak and again sof

liberty, some attempt will be made-as it will against mine. That," he said,