The Rising Storm

In consequence he slept late, but even when he woke he did not hurry to get up; and, having rung for his breakfast to be brought to him, he found his mind turning to the Senorita d'Aranda.

He had not given her a thought since they had parted two nights before, but now her long, oval face and striking black eyebrows re­appeared in his mental vision with extraordinary vividness. Idly, he wondered what would have transpired if she had been remaining on at Court, and on his return from Italy he had followed his impulse to develop her acquaintance. Although that acquaintance had been very brief, from the beginning she had made no effort to disguise her interest in and liking for him. She was clearly no coquette but a straightforward person, so if he had laid siege to her it seemed highly likely that an affaire would have developed between them.

Roger had no desire to marry, but even had he felt that way inclined, he knew that there could be no question of making Isabella d'Aranda his wife. For him it would have been a brilliant match, as she was the daughter of the greatest man in Spain after King Carlos, and her family were immensely wealthy. But for that very reason they would never have countenanced her marrying a simple gentleman of modest means such as himself. Moreover, as a Spaniard she would certainly be a Catholic, while he was a Protestant, and mixed marriages at that date were still regarded by both sides with abhorrence.

He knew well enough that no platonic affaire would have kept him interested for long, and wondered if he could have made her his mistress. As she had been so long in France, and high society there indulged in perpetual immoralities covered only with a graceful cloak of elaborately observed conventions, it was quite possible that she had been the mistress of one or more men already; and, if so, her seduction would not prove very difficult. On the other hand she was unmarried, and so by convention still forbidden fruit to the more scrupulous courtiers; and the Queen was known to regard any immorality on the part of her ladies with great severity. All things considered, Roger thought it unlikely that Isabella had as yet taken a lover.

But she would, of course, as soon as she was married. All women of her rank married whoever their parents chose for them, so love did not enter into such alliances; and it would have been considered unnatural in them had they failed to take a succession of lovers after­wards. Somehow, though, Roger did not see Isabella going to bed with one man after another. She was too intense to become promiscuous. He thought it much more likely that she would become desperately enamoured of some man who possessed brains as well as looks, probably someone considerably older than herself, and remain faithful to him, perhaps for life, or at all events as long as he remained faithful to her. Then, after he died or left her, she would be heartbroken for a while, but eventually get over it and find solace in her children.

If that were so, it would have proved no easy matter to make her his mistress, had he had the chance, and he knew that he would not have attempted to do so had he found her to be still a virgin. All the same, her very intensity was a sign that once aroused she would be capable of great passion; and Roger, having known Georgina, greatly preferred really passionate women who met a man half-way, to the kind that pretended to faint, then suffered an attack of conscience and wept copiously afterwards.

Still, the question of whether Isabella's hidden fires had yet led her to indulge herself in gallantry, or not, was of no moment now. If she had left Fontainebleau the day before, as she had said she intended to do, she would by now have accomplished the first stage of her long journey to Spain. At a rough calculation he estimated that she would have spent the night at Pethiviers, or even perhaps have got as far as Orleans. In any case when he took the road to Italy their ways would diverge further apart each day, so it was waste of time to speculate further about her.

Dismissing her from his mind he finished his breakfast, then made a leisurely toilette. At a quarter past ten he left the inn and, as on the previous day, finding no hackney-coach in the vicinity took an omnibus down to the Pont Neuf. Then he once more walked along the Quai de Louvre and crossed the Jardin des Tuileries. On its far side he entered a small cafe, sat down at a table and ordered a glass of Jerez wine. It was now close on eleven o'clock and he had come there to keep a rendezvous he had made the previous day.

If, while posing as a Frenchman, he had been noticed going into the British Embassy on several occasions by any of his acquaintances, or a police-agent stationed in the quarter, that might have aroused most unwelcome suspicions; but he had to keep in touch with it, both for drawing funds from time to time and to send in his reports, so that they might be despatched to London in the security of the Embassy bag.

To get over the difficulty, he had arranged with Mr. Daniel Hailes, who, apart from the Ambassador, was the only member of the Embassy Staff who knew of his secret activities, a simple code. They had selected a number of quiet cafes, each near one of the public gardens. If Roger sent an envelope to Mr. Hailes containing chestnut leaves it meant: "meet me at the cafe in the Palais Royale’; if oak leaves, the cafe" on the edge of the Bois de Vincennes; if plane tree leaves the cafe opposite the Tuileries, and so on. The number of leaves, designated the hour; the addition of one twig, "tomorrow', of two twigs "the day after tomorrow", etc. As Mr. Hailes went every morning to Monsieur Aubert to be shaved, it was simple for Roger to leave an envelope there any time during the day with lie certainty that, even if the next day was a Sunday, Mr. Hailes would be given it first thing in the morning.

In this way they could meet without the necessity of Roger having to put anything at all on paper; and in the event of somebody at Monsieur Aubert's opening the envelopes they would not have the faintest idea what the leaves and twigs meant; so no spy could be sent to the meeting places with orders to try to overhear something of the highly secret conversations which took place at them.

Roger had not been seated for many minutes in the cafe when the portly, middle-aged Mr. Hailes appeared and, giving him a friendly nod, sat down at his table. The diplomat had the rather prim appearance of a wealthy merchant and he was dressed more soberly than was cus­tomary with foreigners of his status who were attached to the Court. But he and his chief, the Duke of Dorset, formed a long-standing partnership that accounted for the particular efficiency of the British Embassy in Paris at that date. The Ambassador was a man of wit, wealth and fashion; he was extremely popular in French society and even the Queen frequently attended his thes dansant, which had become a regular feature of the Paris winter season. The First Secretary, on the other hand, kept in the background, but little escaped him, as he was both intelligent and extremely shrewd. So while His Grace stayed up all night, winning good will, Mr. Hailes worked all day, providing the brains and direction of policy.

Roger and Mr. Hailes greeted one another in French, and as though they had met purely by chance; then when the latter had ordered himself a drink, he said with a sly smile:

"Well, my dashing Chevalier? What is it you wish of me now? Not more money, I trust; for I furnished you with five hundred ecus no longer ago than last week."

"You have guessed it in one," Roger replied with a grin. "To console you a little I will confess that I still have most of that five hundred, but I shall require at least a further thousand, and I would prefer it in bills of exchange to coin, as I am about to set out for Italy."

"And why, may I ask?"

"The matter concerns a lady, and one of the most beautiful I have ever met."

"I congratulate you," said Mr. Hailes dryly. "But in such a case I fear you must look elsewhere for your expenses."

"On the contrary. Indirectly, this is very much the King's business, so I consider myself fully entitled to ask you, as His Majesty's repre­sentative, to supply me with funds."

“May one enquire the lady's name?"

Roger lent forward and lowered his voice. " 'Tis Marie Antoinette."

Mr. Hailes did not blink an eyelid; he simply said: "Pray continue, I am all attention. "

Without further ado Roger launched out into an account of his recent experiences. Then, producing his report and the Queen's letter, he handed them over.

For a moment Mr. Hailes remained silent, but having stuffed the two packets away in his pockets, he remarked with his dry smile: "I think Mr. Pitt does well to employ you. Will a thousand ecus be enough ? You can have more if you wish."

"I thank you," Roger replied. "But I should be able to manage comfortably on that, as I have no intention of staying in Italy longer than I need; and I have reserve funds of my own which I could use in an emergency."

Mr. Hailes nodded. "That is settled then. Where shall I send the money?"

"Do you know a horse-dealer who is something less of a rogue than most?"

"His Grace recently bought a pair of greys for his new barouche from a man next the sign of the Three Flagons in the Rue Beauberg, and I thought their price not excessive."

"Then send it by one of the Embassy messengers to meet me there at three o'clock this afternoon. I have to buy a mount for my journey and may as well patronize His Grace's man as any other."

After a moment Mr. Hailes said: "I approve your decision to undertake this mission; but all the same 'tis a thousand pities that you should be leaving Paris just at a time when such momentous events are in the offing."

"I, too, regret it on that score," Roger agreed. "But tell me, what was the cause of the riot yesterday? You are the first person to whom I have spoken this morning, and I could obtain naught but obviously spurious accounts of it last night."

" 'Twas by far the most serious disturbance that has yet taken place in Paris, although from what I hear the riots which occurred in Marseilles some weeks back were of an even more extensive nature. Yet this was in all conscience bad enough; for a number of the troops as well as of the mob were killed in the affair, and 'tis said that the wounded who have been accommodated-at the Hotel Dieu total several hundred."

Roger looked at his companion in considerable surprise. " 'Twas then virtually a battle! But whence came the spark that ignited this powder magazine?"

"It seems that a certain Monsieur Reveillon, who is a manufacturer of paper in quite a large way, had been asked by his workmen for a rise in wages on account of the increased price of bread; and that he refused it to them. The story goes that he declared in public that fifteen sols a day was ample for any workman to live upon, and that incensed by this they met before his house on Monday night to burn his effigy. The appearance of some French and Swiss guards on the scene deterred them from any material outrage at the time, but they gathered again by midday yesterday in a most evil temper.

"The Faubourg St. Antoine, where Reveillon has hisv factory and also lives, contains the worst slums in the city; so his workmen were soon joined by riff-raff of all kinds and the mob was further swollen by bands of sympathizers marching from all quarters of it. In view of the disturbance the previous night detachments of troops had been posted at all the approaches to Reveillon's house, so the mob could not get at the object of their fury, but by early afternoon the streets round about had become blocked by a crowd of several thousand malcontents."

Mr. Hailes paused to sip his drink, then went on: "As you will be aware, the road to the Bois de Vincennes passes through that quarter. Yesterday it so happened that His Highness of Orleans was racing his horses against those of Monsieur le Comte d'Artois in the Bois, so many persons of rank and fashion were on their way thither. The sight of their handsome equipages inflamed the mob further; in spite of the efforts of additional bodies of troops that were now being hurried to the scene, many of the carriages were forced to turn back, and serious fighting broke out between the troops and the people.

"It continued for some hours and the military succeeded in main­taining a cordon round Reveillon's premises until about five o'clock. Then the Duchess d'Orleans drove up to one of the barriers they had formed, on her way back from the races. She asked permission for her carriage to pass, and apparently the officer did not feel that he could refuse such an important person. Immediately the barrier was opened the mob surged through with the carriage and a general melee ensued.

"Apparently the troops managed to prevent the rabble from getting into Reveillon's house and he escaped with the aid of his neighbours, but they forced their way into that next door, stripped it of its contents and burnt them in the street. Many of the rioters were shot down, but others got up on to the roofs and tearing the slates from them hurled these missiles at the troops below, severely injuring considerable num­bers. Eventually order was restored, but not before the whole garrison of Paris had been placed under arms, so you can judge the magnitude of the disturbance."

"What sort of a person is this Reveillon ?" Roger asked. "Is he in fact a bad employer?"

"On the contrary. And that is what makes the affair so mysterious. He is a good, honest man, who started life as a poor workman himself, and has risen to his present affluence solely by hard work and ability. Having known poverty in his early days he looks after the well-being of his workpeople far better than the average employer, and pays none of them less than twenty-four sols a day. Moreover, when trade was so bad last winter he kept them all on out of charity, although for some months his factory was standing idle. 'Tis that which makes it impossible to believe that he ever said that fifteen sols a day was enough for any labourer to live on."

"Have you any theory why he should have been singled out for such unwelcome attention?"

"Possibly it was because he is standing for election to the Tiers-Etat in opposition to a firebrand; and has brought the hatred of the rabble on himself as a result of his moderate opinions. But I cannot help believing that there is more behind it than that. The probability is that whatever he did say was seized upon and deliberately distorted with the view to provoking a riot."

Roger nodded. "Is there the least truth in the rumours running round last night that Reveillon is in some way in the service of the Queen?"

"Not an iota! 'Tis just another calumny against that poor woman. No opportunity is ever lost by her enemies to besmirch her with fresh mire."

"And what of His Highness of Orleans ? Do you regard it as no more than a coincidence that it should have been his wife who enabled the mob to penetrate the barrier the troops had erected?"

Mr. Hailes's eyes narrowed. "There is the further coincidence that the riot should have occurred on a day that His Highness was racing his horses at Vincennes; otherwise it would have been remarked upon as strange that his wife should be driving through the poorest quarter of the city. Moreover, the fact that bands of marchers came from so many different parts of it to join the original demonstrators definitely points to the whole affair having been organized beforehand. For a long time past His Highness has gone out of his way to gain popularity for himself at the expense of his Sovereigns, and one can hardly escape the conclusion that he is secretly working for the overthrow of his cousin the King. Yet there is little proof that is so, unless we regard his connection with the Freemasons as such."

"He is Grand Master of the Order in France, is he not?"

"He is." Mr. Hailes drummed with his finger-tips gently on the table. "That in itself is no treason; for the Masons are an offshoot of the German Rosicrucians and Illuminati, and are supposed to do no more than concern themselves with mystical matters. But I know for a fact that under cover of these activities they pursue political aims. Nearly every leading figure in the troubles that have afflicted France in the past few years has been a Mason; and 'tis my belief that His Highness is using the widespread ramifications of this secret society to bring about a revolution."

"I too have gathered that the Masonic clubs are hotbeds of sedition. But is there not a risk that by whistling for the wind His Highness may raise a whirlwind in which he will himself be destroyed ?"

"No doubt he flatters himself that his great popularity with the masses will enable him to ride out the storm; and there are fair grounds for believing that it might be so. All classes are united in their demand for a Constitution, but not one per cent, of the nation has yet reached the point at which it would even listen to any suggestion of abolishing the monarchy."

For a moment they were silent, then Roger said: "Think you that the present state of Paris is an exception, or indicative of feeling through­out the greater part of the country?"

"The unrest is very widespread," replied Mr. Hailes gravely. "And that is hardly to be wondered at. The elections have thrown the whole population into an unnatural fever, and in addition the great scarcity of corn in many parts gives real grounds for anger against the Govern­ment. There have been serious bread riots recently at Caen, Orleans, Cette and many other places; and the accounts from Marseilles are still very alarming. The troops were besieged in their barracks there until Monsieur de Mirabeau used his great popularity with the mob to call them off; but street fighting has continued, and hardly a day passes without the loss of some lives."

" 'Tis said by many that the high price of bread is caused by the Government deliberately withholding supplies of grain, in order to make more money. But I can scarce credit that there is any truth in that."

"There is none. On the contrary, the King has done everything he can to bring relief to the people, even to buying corn from abroad. Such rumours nearly always become current at times of great shortage, and the present one is mainly due to the exceptionally poor harvest last year. You may not recall hearing mention of it but a storm of the first magni­tude swept France and destroyed a great part of the standing crops. The ensuing floods were of such severity that houses and cattle were washed away and many people drowned. Then the situation was further aggravated by the wickedness of the winter. All the great rivers of France were frozen and even the port of Marseilles was covered with ice. In such conditions prices were bound to rise and many localities find themselves actually faced with famine. Unfortunately, apart from the better weather, the poor can hope for little amelioration of their hard lot until the next harvest has been gathered; so I fear we must anticipate a continuance of these outbreaks of violence all through the coming summer."

"I note that you qualify your remarks by saying that the corn shortage is 'mainly due’ to these misfortunes," Roger commented. "That infers that you have in mind some other cause which has made the situation even worse than it need have been."

Mr. Hailes gave him an appraising glance. "You are very quick, young man; and since we are talking in the strictest confidence I will name it. Having no proof of this I would certainly not do so in other circumstances, but I believe you were not far from the mark when you suggested that large quantities of grain are deliberately being withheld from the markets. Not by the King, of course, but by a ring of wealthy private individuals. Moreover, I suspect that their object is not so much gain as to ferment further outcry against the Government."

"Then, in view of our conversation a while back, I think I could make a good guess at the name of one of the ring, if not its leader."

"And you would be right," said Mr. Hailes with equal quickness. "His Highness is one of the richest men in France, and it is as certain as such a thing can be that he has been using a part of his millions for this nefarious purpose; for the names of those who made the biggest purchase of grain last spring were those of men I know to be his agents."

"Would that of the Marquis de St. Huruge be among them?"

"No. But I think you right in believing him to be secretly an Orleanist, in spite of his position at Court. And he is by no means the only noble there whom I judge capable of biting the hand that has so far fed him. If my informants know their business the Due de Laincourt is another; and I suspect that even the Due de Biron is trimming his sails, so that should the wind from Orleans blow its argosy to a rich port his barque will be among it."

"De Biron!" exclaimed Roger. "Surely you are wrong in that. In the days when he was Monsieur de Lazun the Queen showed him so much kindness that he was freely spoken of as her lover."

"I know it; and he has never forgiven her for not being quite kind enough," replied Hailes, cynically. "God forbid that I should appear to criticize Her Majesty's rectitude, or that of King Louis either; but the present troubles of these two are in part, at least, the outcome of their own integrity. Neither have great brains and he is cursed more than any man I ever knew with the incapacity to make up his mind. But both are reasonably intelligent and absolutely honest. Their tragedy is that they are too honest for this degenerate era, and refuse to pander to the greed and lusts of the frailer beings with whom they are constantly brought into contact. That is why, in their hour of need, I fear that they will find themselves entirely isolated."

Mr. Hailes gave a sigh, then slapped the table with his hand and stood up. "I fear I must leave you now, Chevalier. I have a despatch for London on the Reveillon affair that I must complete, so that His Grace can sign it on his arising. The money shall be sent by a safe hand as you have directed. It remains only for me to wish you good fortune."

Roger thanked him, and watched the portly but unobtrusive figure move away. Then he ordered himself another drink and spent an hour scanning the news-sheets. None, other than Government publications, were then issued in France; but there were scores of pamphlets pro­duced by private people holding every variety of opinion. Some were obviously inspired by the Court, but most of these struck Roger as weak and lacking in conviction. The great majority were anti-Government and many of them were both so treasonable and so scurrilous that even a year earlier they would have landed their authors behind bars. In one the Dauphin's illness was asserted to have been caused by the Queen habitually making him drunk for her amusement; in another she was accused of unnatural vice with her favourite, the Duchess de Polignac.

It seemed extraordinary to Roger that the police permitted such filth to be left lying about openly in the public cafes; and he could only suppose that the output was now so great that it had become beyond their powers to deal with it; or that they too were in league with the Queen's enemies. One thing was certain: it was a clear indication that the forces of law and order had already lost all power of initiative.

Feeling slightly sick from what he had read he left the cafe and employed himself for the next hour or so buying various things he might need on his journey. At two o'clock he sat down to a belated dinner—as the French then termed their midday meal—and by three o'clock he was at the horse-dealer's in the Rue Beauberg.

Mr. Hailes's man was there with the money; and after trying out several mounts in the riding school that formed part of the premises, Roger chose a well-set-up black mare. He then went in search of suitable saddlery, and having found what he wanted had it carried back to the horse-dealer's. The mare was saddled up, and he rode her across Paris to his inn. As it was now too late to start that day he spent a quiet evening and went to bed early; but he was up by six and soon after seven o'clock on the 29th of April he set out for Italy.

As he passed through the open fields surrounding the little town of Montgeron, just outside Paris, he noticed again, as he had the week before when riding post to Fontainebleau, the extraordinary number of partridges. He estimated that there must be a covey to every two acres, and in some places more. Never when at home in England with a gun had he had the luck to see such a sight. But he knew that in France not only was the game most strictly preserved for the nobles, but many of them never bothered to shoot it, and the depredations of the young birds on the corn was one of the major aggravations of the peasantry.

Soon afterwards he entered the royal oak forest of Senar from which much of the timber was cut to build France's fleets; then he came out of it at Melun, halting there to have a meal and give his mare a good rest.

As he knew the Queen's letter to be a general resume of the situation, requiring no immediate answer, he did not feel called on to force his pace. Had he done so he would have travelled post, changing horses every five miles; but he knew from experience that such frequent changes were extremely tiring, so a means of travelling to be avoided unless one's journey was of considerable urgency. Nevertheless, having ridden through the forest of Fontainebleau most of the afternoon, by early evening he reached Nemours, which was some sixty miles from Paris, so he felt that he had had an uneventful but satisfactory day.

At that date, owing to the fact that all the wealthiest people in France lived in the shadow of the Court, and rarely visited their estates, there was far less travel than in England. In consequence except in the cities the inns were far inferior. Like most of the farmhouses, they lacked glass in their windows; they had no coffee-room, earthen floors, and could offer only the most primitive accommodation.

The Ecu de France, where Roger lay that night, was no exception; so when, in the morning, he was presented with a bill for close on ten livres, he naturally found it a matter for angry amazement. As he had supped very simply off soup, a roast partridge, fricassie of chicken, cauliflower, celery, biscuits and dessert, washed down by a single bottle of wine, he considered the sum—which was equivalent to eight shillings and sevenpence—positively exorbitant, and told the landlord so in no uncertain terms.

To his further surprise the landlord refused to reduce the account, except to the extent of knocking off the odd sous, and on being threatened with a beating he called up his stable hands, declaring that it was Roger who would get the beating if he did not pay in full.

Rather than enter on an undignified scrimmage against odds, in which he might easily have got the worst of it, Roger threw the money on the ground and, mounting his mare, rode out of Nemours. His disgust at being so flagrantly cheated was forgotten in his humiliation at having to ride off with his tail between his legs. But when the fresh morning air had soothed his pride a little, he realized that the episode was simply one more example of the rapidly changing state of France. When he had lived there two years earlier no innkeeper would have dared to cheat and threaten to have his ostlers lay hands on a gentleman; yet now, it seemed, the dishonest sort could do so with impunity.

At midday he reached Montargis, a smaller place where the people at the inn were both civil and moderate in their charges. Late that afternoon, after another uneventful day, he came to Briare, where for the first time he saw the great sweep of the river Loire; and, having cautiously enquired the tariff at the inn, he decided to stay there for the night.

Next day his road lay along the river bank; and the country was so pleasant, with its green meadows and many white chateaux set among groups of trees, that, after taking his midday meal at Pouilly, he lingered there much longer than he had previously allowed for such halts.

It was nearly three o'clock when he reluctantly left the grassy knoll on which he had stretched himself near the edge of the river, to collect his mare. Then, as the town clock chimed, he suddenly realized how the time had slipped away and began to press his pace, as he intended to sleep at Nevers that night, so still had some thirty miles to cover.

Having made good time to Pougues, he gave his mount half an hour's rest there while refreshing himself with a pint of wine; then set off on the last ten miles of his third day's journey. The road now left the river and rose to steeper ground where wild heath was interspersed with patches of woodland. The best of the day had gone by the time he was half-way to Nevers and twilight was beginning to fall. It was still quite light in the open spaces but among the trees there was a suggestion of gathering darkness.

Suddenly a woman's scream rent the evening quiet. He had just entered a belt of woodland through which the road curved away a little to the east. Pulling one of his pistols from its holster he set spurs to his mare and galloped round the corner.

As he rounded the bend he saw that the road descended into a hollow. To one side of it the trees fell back in a glade leading to the open heath; in its centre stood a coach drawn by four horses. The coach had been going in the same direction as himself. It was now surrounded by a group of masked men. Two were still mounted; one, in front of the horses, was holding up the coachman; the other, with his back to Roger, was covering the footman on the boot. Two more were dragging an old lady out of the coach.

To tackle four highwaymen single-handed was a dangerous business. Roger cursed the ill-fortune that had brought him on this scene; but he would have been ashamed to ride off without making an attempt to succour the old woman. His decision to intervene was practically instantaneous. He knew that his only chance of driving off such odds lay in his sudden appearance having taken the rogues by surprise. Reining in his mare, he took aim at the nearest highwayman and fired.

The others, facing Roger, had given shouts of warning the instant they saw him. But the man in the rear of the coach was caught unawares. He half-turned to look over his shoulder, suddenly realized his danger, and ducked his head. Next second he jerked in his saddle, gave a cry and slumped forward with one arm hanging limp at his side. His pistol fell from his nerveless hand, clattered on the road and exploded with a loud report. Startled by the pistol going off almost under its belly, his horse reared, then cantered away with him lurching from side to side as he strove to keep his seat.

At the sight of their comrade's discomfiture the two men who were rough-handling the old lady let her go. Running to their horses they hoisted themselves into their saddles. Both drew pistols and came charging up the little rise. Roger wondered grimly how he would come out of the affair; but he was ready for them.

Before the smoke drifted from the barrel of his first pistol he had thrust it back in his holster and drawn his second. As the two came galloping towards him he took careful aim at the one on the right. He was within an ace of pulling the trigger when there came a bang like that of a small cannon. Now that aid had come the footman on the boot of the coach had recovered his courage. Pulling out a blunderbuss, and aiming at the backs of the two highwaymen, he had let it off.

With a horrid swish and whistle slugs and old nails sang through the air. The buttocks of the horse ridden by the man on the left got the worst of the discharge. With a pitiful neigh it swerved, nearly throwing its rider, and bolted with him, carrying him off into the woods. But a fragment of the charge grazed Roger's black, causing her to rear at the very second he fired.

His bullet went harmlessly over the head of the man at whom he had aimed, but the mare rearing at that moment probably saved his life. The highwayman had fired almost simultaneously with himself, and the bullet, instead of striking him, buried itself in the fleshy part of his mare's neck.

The impetus of the man's charge carried him past Roger. Both swerved their mounts in a half-circle and drew their swords. The blades met with a clash, parted, and came together again. From the feel of his opponent's steel Roger knew that he was pitted against a strong swords­man. Once more he cursed his luck for having landed him in this unsought fracas.

For a minute or more the two of them exchanged furious cut and thrust, neither gaining any advantage. Roger was now fighting with his back towards the coach. Owing to the noise made by the stamping of the horses' hoofs he did not hear the fourth highwayman come galloping up the slope to his friend's assistance.

Suddenly another pistol-shot rang out. The newcomer had fired at Roger's back. Fortunately, as he was riding full tilt, his aim was bad, and low. The bullet struck the rear projection of the mare's saddle with a loud thud, ricocheted off and whistled through the sleeve of Roger's coat, tearing the flesh of his left arm above the elbow. The pain was as though he had been seared with a red-hot iron, and a sudden warm wetness below the wound told him that he was bleeding badly. But his fingers still clutched the mare's reins and answered to his pressure.

He knew that his situation was now near desperate. For help to arrive within a few moments on that lonely road, at such an hour, would be little short of a miracle. He still held his sword, and at the price of savage pain could control his mount. But at any moment one of the two unwounded men might wound him again, and this time fatally.

Hastily disengaging his blade he pulled his mare back on her haunches, and half-turned her to meet his new attacker. As he did so he caught a glimpse of the coach. Now that it had been freed from its hold-up the old lady had got back into it and was seizing the chance to escape. The vehicle was already in movement, and the coachman lashing his horses wildly. At a lumbering gallop it careered off down the road.

The man who had fired the pistol drew his sword. He came at Roger in the same instant that the other renewed his attack. Roger was now between them, so at a grave disadvantage. His peril made him gasp; but his wits did not desert him. In a desperate attempt to get out of his dangerous situation he parried one thrust, ducked the other, and spurred his mare forward. Then, as she shot past his latest antagonist, he delivered a swift sideways cut at the man's head.

The sudden move took the fellow off his guard. The point of Roger's sword caught the corner of his eye and slashed his face down to the chin. His mask fell off and blood spurted from the ugly wound. With a howl of rage and pain, he clapped his free hand to his face. Half-blinded by blood, he reeled in his saddle and his horse ambled off with him to the side of the road.

Roger had barely time to realize that he had put one of his opponents out of the fight before the other was on him again. Once more their swords clashed and slithered. Weak now from loss of blood he knew that unless he could end matters quickly he would be done. Exerting all his remaining strength in a fierce downward sweep, he followed it with a swift lunge.

His first movement beat down his antagonist's blade, the second pierced his right side. But the force of the man's own thrust had not been fully spent. His sword entered Roger's boot above the ankle, tore through the tendons on the inner side of his foot, came out at the back of the boot and buried its point in the flank of his mare.

As she whinnied with pain, and reared in an attempt to throw him, Roger caught a glimpse of his enemy. His face had suddenly gone deathly white beneath his mask and his sword had fallen from his hand. Next second Roger's mare lowered her head, dragging fiercely at the reins, lifted it again, and plunged wildly forward down the hill.

Roger still held his drawn sword in one hand; his other was weakened from the first wound he had received. His instep, too, was now paining him so severely that he could no longer exert the full grip of his right knee on the saddle. As the mare dashed down the slope it was all he could do to keep his balance.

In an effort to check her wild career he hauled on the reins, but all he succeeded in doing was to pull her head round slightly to the left. Leaving the road, she galloped through the clearing among the trees out on to the open heath.

For over a quarter of a mile he fought to regain control of her, while she avoided ditches and foxholes only by a miracle. His efforts gradually became weaker and he realized that he was powerless to do anything until she slowed down of her own accord. Suddenly she stumbled, recovered, shivered violently; then, without warning, fell to her knees, pitching him forward over her head.

He let go the reins and flung out both hands in an attempt to save himself. His left arm doubled under him, his forehead struck the hilt of his out-thrust sword, and the blow knocked him unconscious.

It was some time before he came to; but when he did the pain from his wounds swiftly brought back to him .the events which had led to his having been flung there, face downward in the young bracken. After a moment he raised himself on his good elbow and turned over. As he moved his injured foot the stab of pain from it was so acute that he gasped and shut his eyes. When he opened them he realized that it was now nearly dark.

Gingerly settling himself a trifle more comfortably he looked about him. He was lying in a shallow-bottomed gully, so he could not see more than half a dozen yards in any direction; but a faint, pinkish-orange glow breaking the dark night sky over his right shoulder told him that he was facing south-east, so the road must be somewhere in his rear.

From that he judged that his pull on the left-hand rein of the mare must have brought her round nearly in a half-circle before she threw him. Anxiously he looked to right and left in search of her; then screwed his head round as far as it would go. There she was, immediately behind him, about three yards away on the slope of the gully. She was lying quite still on her side, with her near hind leg sticking stiffly out at an angle. The light was still just sufficient for him to see a dark pool on the ground in front of her where the blood had poured from the wound in her neck. One glance was enough to tell him that she was dead.

He wondered what the devil he was going to do now. Night was fast approaching and he doubted very much if he could stagger even as far as the road. His head, foot and arm were all hurting him abominably. From the latter he had lost quite a lot of blood, and it was still bleeding. If he could not get his wounds attended to he might quite well die of weakness and cold before morning.

The coach had driven off; but even had he believed it to be still in the vicinity he would not have dared to shout for help. He thought that he had rendered three of the rogues hors de combat, but he was by no means certain. The wound of the man he had run through the side might be only superficial. Then there was the fellow whose horse had bolted with him after being shot in the buttocks by the footman. Either or both might still be quite close by. They would be furious with anger at the wrecking of their plan, and thirsting for vengeance. If the} found him in his present helpless state it was a certainty that they would murder him.

Nevertheless he knew that he must get help somehow. All over France wolves still abounded. In winter they often invaded villages and. made fierce by hunger, attacked men as well as women and children. Even now, when they had retired to their lairs in the higher ground, they still came down to roam the more desolate areas at night in search of stray cattle. Weakened as he was he knew with a horrid sinking feeling that he might easily fall a prey to them.

He felt that whatever pain it cost him he must somehow manage to crawl back to the roadside, as only there would he have any chance to attract the attention of some late passer-by. To do that was to risk an encounter with one of the highwaymen, but it was a gamble that had to be taken. To remain lying where he had fallen was to invite death, and perhaps a horrible death, in a ditch.

Turning over on his stomach he got slowly to his knees. Then he began to crawl forward, dragging his wounded foot behind him. He had not covered more than four feet when it knocked against a stone. The spasm of agony that went through him was so acute that he nearly fainted.

For a moment he lay there dizzy and helpless. As he did so the monstrous ill-luck of which he had been the victim came to his mind again. But for that chance encounter he would by now be dining in the warmth and comfort of the inn at Nevers. By interfering in someone else's quarrel, he had had his mare killed, was grievously wounded and likely to die himself.

Suddenly he began to curse, loud, long and fluently, in English, French and German. Then, as he paused at last from lack of breath, a soft voice just behind him said:

"Hush, Monsieur, I pray! That is no language to use in the presence of a lady."

Jerking round his head he stared up at the cloaked and hooded figure of a woman. It was now too dark to see her face, but he would have known that voice anywhere. It was that of Isabella d'Aranda.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE ROAD TO THE SOUTH

ROGER drew a hand wearily across his eyes. He could only suppose that the state to which he had been reduced had sent him temporarily off his head, and that he was suffering from an hallucination. But the cloaked figure ran down the bank, sank in a flurry of skirts beside him, and grasped his hands. He caught a heady whiff of the scent of gardenias, and the soft voice came again.

"Mon brave Chevalier! Thank God that I have found you! Are you gravely hurt? Oh, I pray that your wounds be not serious!"

"I have no vital injury," Roger croaked, "though I am in some pain and weak from loss of blood. But by what miracle can it be you who have come to my assistance, Senorita?"

" 'Twas my coach that you protected from those villains. I leant out of the window and recognized you, but you were much too heavily engaged to see me. When we drove off and you failed to follow I felt sure you must be wounded. Pedro, my footman, confirmed my fears. He said the last glimpse he had of you was being carried away by your horse on to the heath. So we returned to search for you."

Still greatly puzzled, Roger murmured: "I thought you on your way to Spain."

But she was no longer listening to him; she had stood up and was calling to her servants. There came an answering shout and from the gathering shadows Pedro emerged. He was accompanied by a buxom, fat-faced maid, whom Isabella addressed as Maria, and in addition to his blunderbuss he carried a lantern. By its light the two young women examined Roger's wounds, exclaiming in sympathy and gabbling away to one another in Spanish while they attended to his arm and head. Both had bled copiously, making him a horrid sight, but his arm had been no more than laid open by the bullet and the skin of his forehead only torn where it had struck the rim of his sword-hilt. He was much more worried about his instep, which they had not so far noticed. When he pointed it out to the Senorita, she exclaimed:

"Alas, yet another wound! And to get at it your boot will have to be cut off. But there is little blood and that about the slits where the sword passed through is dry already. I think we had best get you to the coach now, and so to Nevers, where you can receive proper treatment."

Taking the lantern from Pedro she told him what she wished done. With the assistance of the two women the big Spaniard hoisted Roger across his shoulders; Isabella then led the way with the light and Maria, supporting Roger's bad foot to prevent it from bumping, brought up the rear. Fortunately it was no great distance to the road and after five minutes' puffing and grunting Pedro lowered his heavy burden on to the back seat of the coach.

It was a huge vehicle and could have held eight people comfortably. In the other back-seat corner sat the old woman he had seen hauled out of it, and next to her was Quetzal. Although the roof of the coach was piled high with luggage, most of its front seat was also occupied with packages of all sorts and sizes; so Maria, still supporting Roger's foot, squatted on the floor, while Isabella sat down between him and her Indian.

Having sent Pedro to fetch Roger's sword, saddlery, valise and bedroll from the back of his dead mare, Isabella said: "Monsieur de Breuc, I wish to present you to the Senora Poeblar. The Senora was my governess until I entered the service of Madame Marie Antoinette, and recently undertook the long journey from Spain in order to act as my companion when I left the Court of France."

Roger was in no state to make graceful compliments, but the Senora made up for the brevity of his greeting by breaking into a spate of Spanish, and when she had done Quetzal added a few phrases.

"The Senora thanks you for having rescued us, Monsieur," Isabella interrupted. "She is desolated at not being able to do so in a language you understand; but during her previous sojourn in France she hardly left our Embassy, so she knows only a few words of French. Quetzal also thanks you. He calls you Monsieur Blue-Eyes, and says that later he will give you a red feather to wear in your hair, because that is a mark given to especially brave men in his country to distinguish them from others."

With an effort Roger murmured his appreciation; but to speak at all made worse the throbbing of his head, so he was much relieved when Pedro had fetched his things, and the coach set off.

Fortunately, Nevers being a place of some size, the inn there was a good one, and before the hold-up Isabella had already sent her outrider ahead to secure the best accommodation at it. Roger was carried in, made as comfortable as possible on Isabella's own travelling mattress, and a chirurgeon was sent for.

Even when the boot had been slit down, getting the injured foot out of it proved a most painful business, but the result of the chirurgeon's examination was reassuring. He said that all use of the foot would greatly retard its healing, so he meant to encase it in plaster in the morning; but that if it was kept rigid for from two to three weeks he thought that the patient would be able to walk again without developing a permanent limp.

Isabella, the plump, fat-faced Maria and the old Senora were all present at the conference and all three of them assisted the chirurgeon to wash and bandage their hero's wounds. Flattered as Roger might have been had he felt more his normal self, he now wished fervently that they would go away with the doctor and leave him in peace; but he knew there was no hope of that. He had been carried up to the largest room in the hostelry, which Isabella's outrider had reserved for her and her women, and clearly they had no thought of going to another. Maria began to lay the table for supper with her mistress's travelling cutlery, and an inn servant brought up two screens for them to undress behind afterwards.

When the meal arrived the two ladies and Quetzal sat down to it while Maria waited upon them. They conversed only in hushed voices but every ten minutes or so Isabella could not resist asking him how he was feeling and if she could get anything for him. At length he took refuge in pretending to be asleep. But he had now become feverish, and his restless tossing brought their further ministrations upon him before they retired for the night.

Evidently having decided that his foot was the seat of the trouble they undid the bandage. The Senora then produced a small packet of oiled silk and a square of cardboard from her medicine chest. The oiled silk contained some tacky greyish stuff that looked like dirty cobwebs, and Roger began to protest vigorously when he saw that she was about to put it on the red gash across his inflamed and swollen instep.

He gave in only because he dared not struggle for fear of restarting the bleeding, and on receiving Isabella's assurance that this old-wives' salve was a sovereign remedy for reducing fever in angry flesh wounds; but his apprehension was hardly lessened when he saw that the piece of cardboard, which the Senora placed immediately over the salve, was a picture of St. Sebastian.

While Isabella rebandaged his foot the Senora took a glass phial from her chest, poured some of the liquid it held into a glass and, after adding a little water, brought it over to Roger. Thinking “in for a penny in for a pound", he drank it down; but this time no further qualms assailed him, as he recognized it to be Cordial Poppy Water; and ten minutes later he dropped off to sleep.

When he woke in the morning he felt decidedly better; and, whether he owed it to the cobwebs or the intervention of St. Sebastian, there was no doubt that the inflammation of his instep had subsided. Nevertheless, the Senora Poeblar evidently had no wish to flaunt her triumph over the chirurgeon, as she removed both before his arrival and, having done so, put her finger to her lips to enjoin secrecy on Roger.

It was the first opportunity he had had to regard her with any attention, and as he smiled his understanding and thanks, he thought she looked rather a nice old lady. She was very swarthy and fat, but big-built and strong-limbed. Her age might have been anything between fifty and seventy, since her face was much wrinkled, but her beady eyes showed liveliness and humour. Had it not been for their smallness Roger thought that when young she would probably have passed as a beauty, for she still had good features. She was dressed entirely in black and in addition to a rosary of ebony beads her ample bosom was hung all over with a variety of sacred emblems.

When the chirurgeon arrived he expressed himself as both surprised and gratified at the improvement in the patient's foot, but, all the same, maintained his view that it should be set in plaster. Roger had been hoping that he might now escape so crippling a treatment, but both Isabella and her duenna backed up this opinion, and as he had no wish to risk being lame for life he submitted with the best grace he could muster.

As the day happened to be Sunday Isabella and her entire entourage would normally have attended High Mass, but she excused herself on the plea that someone must stay with Roger. In view of the invalid's still weak condition, and the unlikelihood of his committing an amorous assault on her charge with a heavy plaster cast round his foot, the Senora agreed that the conventions would not be outraged by her leaving the two young people; so at a quarter to ten she set off, taking Quetzal and all the servants with her.

Directly they had gone Isabella made a pile of the travelling cushions near the head of Roger's bed and settled herself comfortably upon them. Taking her hand he kissed it, then smiled up into her dark eyes and said:

"Senorita, this is the chance I have been waiting for, to thank you for coming back to search for me last night. Had you not done so I might have suffered a most horrid fate."

She returned his smile. "Knowing that, how could I have abandoned so brave a gentleman ?"

"Yet you ran a grave risk. You could not have known that I suc­ceeded in wounding the last two of those cut-throats; and, had I not, they might have set upon you again."

"True, but forewarned is forearmed. They would not have found us such easy game as at the first encounter, for then they took us by surprise. On our return both Pedro and my coachman, Manuel, had their blunderbusses out ready, and I had my pistol on my lap."

"Then, Senorita, I count you braver still, since you returned anticipating a fight and were prepared to enter it yourself."

"Monsieur, I am a General's daughter," she said lightly, "so reared to have no fear of arms. But a truce to compliments. Pleased as I am that we should meet again, I am nonetheless surprised at it; and somewhat concerned by your apparent dilatoriness in Her Majesty's service. How comes it that having been five days on the road you are got no further?"

Roger cocked an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that Her Majesty attached more importance to the safe than the speedy delivery of her letter."

" 'Tis true; and, in view of the injuries you have sustained, now most fortunate that should be so. I meant only that such a leisurely progress seemed most unlike the opinion I had formed of you. More­over I am still at a loss to understand how I, who have travelled but a grandmother's pace of twenty-five miles a day, should have passed you; as I must have done, seeing that you left Fontainebleau a night ahead of me."

"That is easy to explain. Before setting out for Italy I had certain private business that required my attention in Paris; so I directed the royal carriage in which you left me, thither, and did not leave again till Tuesday morning. Therefore 'twas you who had two days plus near forty miles start of me; and although I was covering some sixty miles a day it was only last night that I caught up with you."

She gave a not very convincing laugh and remarked: "I might have guessed that any gentleman of so dashing an appearance as Monsieur would have had tender adieux to make before departing on so long a journey."

The way she said it, and the way her dark eyebrows drew together afterwards in a little frown, revealed more clearly than anything had yet done her feelings towards him. For an instant he was tempted to let her think her supposition correct, but his natural kindness overcame the impulse, and he said:

"Nay, Senorita; but there were numerous invitations I had accepted, and in common politeness I could not leave without making suitable excuses to my friends; also I had to convert some of my English letters of Credit into Italian bills of Exchange, and these things are not done in a couple of hours. Yet, if you were surprised to see me again I was equally so to see you. I had thought of you as nearing Chateauroux by this time, on your way to Spain."

"You had not forgotten me then?" She could not keep the eagerness out of her voice, and her slightly uneven teeth showed in a smile.

"Far from it, Senorita. How could I, after the interest you displayed in—in my story ? But how comes it that instead of taking the road to the Pyrenees you are on that to Marseilles? Is it that you have, after all, abandoned your plan of rejoining your family?"

"But no!" she exclaimed. "You must have misunderstood me. 'Tis true that I am on my way to rejoin my parents, but for some time past they have been resident in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. I am proceeding to Marseilles with the object of taking a ship thence to Naples."

"'Twas stupid of me," Roger murmured. "I had temporarily forgotten that Naples is also a Spanish Court."

"It is an easy mistake to make; and my father retired there only after his differences with the old King."

"Do you think you will enjoy life at the Neapolitan Court ?"

She gave him a searching look. " 'Tis hard to say, Monsieur. The Two Sicilies have for so long been under Spanish influence that I cannot think the life of the aristocracy there differs much from what it is in Spain. If so, despite any new distractions in my altered status, I fear I shall soon be sadly missing the witty and intelligent society which I enjoyed while with Madame Marie Antoinette."

Roger frowned. "Your mention of Her Majesty recalls me to my duty to her. By averaging sixty miles a day I had hoped to deliver her despatch to the Grand Duke somewhere about the middle of the month, but my prospects of being able to do so now seem far from good."

"As you infer that you would have ridden all the way, I take it you meant to go via Lyons, Chambery and Turin?"

"Yes, since 'tis May, and the passage of the Alps now open."

"Yet had it been earlier in the year you would have had no choice but to go down to Marseilles, and take ship from there across the gulf to Leghorn. Now that it will prove impossible to ride, are you still set upon taking the Alpine route?"

"Why, yes; for it is normally the quicker at this time of year whether one goes on horseback or in a post-chaise. What now perturbs me is that it may be some days before the chirurgeon permits me to resume my journey; and that even when he does I may find the jolting of a fast post-chaise so painful to my leg that I shall be able to bear it only for short stages."

Isabella gave him a thoughtful look. "It was just that of which I was thinking. If during your convalescence you are reduced to going in short stages anyway, you would travel far more comfortably in a well-sprung coach."

Suddenly Roger saw the way her mind was working. If he went via the Alps, as he had intended, their ways would part at Moulins, only a good day's journey further south. She wanted him to change his route so that she could keep him with her all the way to Marseilles. Next moment she disclosed her thought:

"Even when the chirurgeon pronounces you fit to proceed, your wounds will require careful dressing for some days. Alone on the road to Italy you will be dependent for that on the unskilled ministrations of slatternly inn servants; whereas if you come with me in my coach we can look after you properly."

Roger's brain was now revolving at high speed. Crippled as he was there would probably be little difference in the time it took him to reach Florence whether he went by land or sea. But the latter involved certain highly perturbing possibilities. He now had little doubt that from their first meeting in the forest of Fontainebleau Isabella d'Aranda had fallen in love with him. He was not in love with her, but he knew what propinquity could do to a man like himself who was easily attracted to pretty women. His heart was not made of the stuff to withstand for long the lure of being with her day after day for long hours in the close confinement of a coach. He knew that he would become more and more intrigued by her subtle charm until he gave way to the temptation to make love to her. And from that it might be but a short step to falling in love with her himself.

Such a development could end only in the misery of a painful parting at Marseilles, followed perhaps by months of hopeless longings. It would be far kinder to her to let her go on alone while her feeling for him had so little to feed upon that it could soon be forgotten. And the caution he had inherited from his Scottish mother warned him that to do so would also save him from putting himself in a situation that he might later bitterly regret.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your thought for me, Senorita," he said, after only a moment's hesitation. "But I fear I must decline your offer. 'Tis true that when I set out again I may have to go carefully for the first few days, but after that I should be able to stand up to longer stages."

Her dark brows drew together. "Yet you said yourself that you counted the safe delivery of Her Majesty's letter of paramount impor­tance, and speed only a secondary consideration."

"Indeed I did. But what of it?"

"You seem to have forgotten that you are no longer in a state to defend yourself, and are unlikely to be so for some time to come."

"That is so, but now that I am well clear of Paris, why should I fear attack?"

Isabella's brown eyes widened. "Surely, Monsieur, you realize that de Roubec, having seen you come to my rescue, may now think.."

"De Roubec I" exclaimed Roger, starting up, then falling back at the sudden twinge his foot and arm gave him. "Do you mean that he was among the men who attacked your coach?"

"Why, yes. He was one of those who pulled the Senora Poeblar from it. I recognized him despite his mask. Moreover, he got away unharmed by you, for 'twas his horse that Pedro shot in the buttocks."

"I thought them ordinary highwaymen intent on robbery. But why, in Heaven's name, should de Roubec set upon you ?"

She shrugged. "The Queen's enemies knew about that letter; they knew also that I am her friend and was about to proceed to Naples, from whence it would have been easy to send it by a safe hand up to Florence. What could be more natural than that she should entrust it to me?"

"I wonder, now, that she did not adopt that course."

‘We talked of it, but decided that it was so obvious as to invite certain danger. In fact, at my suggestion we adopted the plan of using my departure as a red herring to cover your own. Her Majesty provided me with an escort of a half-troop of Monsieur d'Esterhazy's hussars, thus openly inferring that I was carrying something of special impor­tance. They could not be spared to accompany me further than Pouilly, but their presence assured me against attack for the first four days of my journey. We hoped that by then the enemy would have abandoned any hope of securing the letter; and in the meantime, while his interest had been concentrated upon myself, you would be clear of all danger, a hundred or more miles to the south."

" 'Twas an admirable ruse," Roger commented. "But I am much perturbed to learn.."

"Aye; yet it was brought to naught by de Roubec's following me further than we expected, and your arrival on the scene," she inter­rupted. "For though you failed to recognize him he will certainly have recognized you."

"Even so, as far as we know, he has never had any cause to suspect that I was the bearer of the letter. On the contrary in fact, as otherwise instead of attacking your coach he would have attacked me."

Isabella made a gesture of impatience. "But do you not see that last night's affray has altered everything? Since de Roubec remained uninjured 'tis certain that he will now be spying on us. Should he see you leave me, and on reaching Moulins turn east, taking the direct route to Italy, he is sure to think that I, fearing another attack from him, have passed the despatch on to you; and that you have agreed to take it to Florence for me."

"That certainly is a possibility," Roger agreed, and even as he made the half-hearted attempt to temporize he knew that it was one that he could not afford to ignore. It was highly probable that de Roubec would reason that way; and if he were in the Due d'Orleans' pay he would have plenty of money; so, although his original gang of bullies had been wounded and dispersed, he would be able to hire others in some low tavern of Nevers.

Leaning towards Roger, Isabella swiftly followed up her advantage. "From Nevers onward I intend to hire two armed guards to accompany the coach on each further stage, so with my own three men and our­selves with our pistols we should form a party sufficiently formidable to frighten off attack. But if you set out alone in a post-chaise and are held up, once you have fired off your two pistols what hope would you have ?"

"Plaguey little, I fear," Roger was forced to admit.

"Then, Monsieur, I beg you to listen to reason. The safe conveyance of Her Majesty's letter is the thing that matters above all else, and you cannot deny that there will be less danger of its falling into her enemies' hands if you accept the protection I can offer you."

Roger had done his best to evade a situation of which he feared the outcome both for her and for himself; but he now felt that he was cornered, so he gave in gracefully, and replied:

"The last consideration certainly outweighs all others, Senorita. So I will gladly avail myself of your hospitality and protection as far as Marseilles."

Isabella's sigh of satisfaction was almost audible, but she made an attempt to hide her pleasure at having got her way by quickly beginning to speculate on how long it would be before they could resume their journey.

Now that the die was cast, and he appeared fated to spend a fortnight at the least as her constant companion, Roger felt that a few days more or less before they set out could make little difference to the outcome; but since travel by slow stages had been forced upon him he thought that he owed it to the Queen to get on the road again as soon as possible, so he said:

"Were I still set on going by post-chaise and alone, no doubt the chirurgeon would insist on my remaining here for some days; but seeing that my fever has abated, and I am to have the benefit of being accom­panied by two excellent nurses in a well-sprung coach, I see no reason why he should not let us start tomorrow."

She nodded. "Why not? And the gaining of those few days would, I am sure, ease any qualms you still may have at having forgone the more arduous and risky course in an attempt to get to Florence more quickly. But if we would avoid inviting a return of your fever we have talked enough for now. When the Senora Poeblar and the servants return from church I will send someone to ensure the chirurgeon coming to see you again this evening, and will make arrangements for the increase of our escort. Meanwhile try to sleep for a little; if you can it will do you good."

Having had a good night, Roger did not feel like sleep, but he made a pretence of obeying her while actually continuing to watch her covertly from under his long lashes.

Getting up she fetched a book from her valise and, sitting down again on the cushions close beside him, began to read it. Roger could see at a glance that it was in Greek, which surprised him for two reasons—firstly because it was unusual for ladies of that day to receive a classical educa­tion, and secondly because, seeing that it was Sunday, he would have expected her to read only books of devotions. It occurred to him then that it might be a Greek Testament, but, being an excellent classical scholar himself, further surreptitious glances told him that, far from it being anything of the sort, it was a copy of the Poems of Sappho.

This small piece of information caused Roger to make a swift readjustment in his previous assessment of the Senorita d'Aranda. Intense, open and intelligent he already knew her to be, but an interest in Sappho indicated that she was by no means a prude. He began to think that however badly he might burn his fingers as a result of possible dalliance with this new flame, he was going to get more fun for his pains than he had at first supposed; and while considering that highly consoling assumption he quite unwittingly dropped off to sleep.

It was, no doubt, his still youthful capacity for almost unlimited sleep, when not otherwise engaged, that played a big part in the swift restoration of his vitality after he had sustained any serious hurt or strain. When the doctor came that evening he pronounced the patient's progress to be excellent, and agreed that provided his foot was kept up on a cushion no harm should come of his making a twenty-mile stage in a comfortable coach the following day.

Accordingly a leisurely start was made at nine o'clock next morning. Isabella insisted on Roger having the same corner seat, next the near window, as that in which she had brought him wounded from the field of honour; while, again, she sat next to him with Quetzal on her other side and the Senora Poeblar beyond the boy in the far corner. Room had been made for Maria on the front seat, opposite the Senora, and Roger's baggage was piled in with the rest. In addition to Pedro and Manuel with their blunderbusses on the boot and box, and Isabella's armed outrider, Hernando, they now had two tough-looking hired men, both carrying pistols and cutlasses, riding one either side of the coach. So as they left Nevers behind, perched so romantically upon its hill above the confluence of the Loire and the Allier, they felt that de Roubec would be hard put to it to muster a sufficient number of mounted ruffians to attack them with any hope of success.

It was the 4th of May, the fateful day on which, provided there were no further postponements, the States General was to assemble for its first momentous meeting at Versailles; but Isabella d'Aranda's party gave it no thought as they knew that, even by fast courier, it must be several days before news of what had occurred could catch up with them.

The weather was clement and the country through which they were passing mainly cultivated, as they were now on the fringe of the Bourbonnais, which contained some of the finest farming land in France. Roger was no agricultural expert but, like every Englishman of his day, he knew enough of farming to realize that the rich soil was not producing crops to one half the value of that in his native Hampshire —and the reason was not far to seek.

Even the poorest nobility of France considered it beneath them to farm their own properties. Instead, they let it out in small holdings to the ignorant peasants on the evil metayer system, by which the tenant surrendered half his produce to his landlord in lieu of rent; so econo­mical tillage was impossible and such modern ideas as crop rotation entirely unknown. Whereas in England every big landowner for several generations past had taken the keenest interest in all new developments, and King George himself took pride in growing the biggest turnips in his realm.

But for the first hour of the journey Roger was given little leisure to study the countryside, as Isabella had not yet heard a full account of his fight with de Roubec's men, and while he told her of it she had to translate the story bit by bit into Spanish for the benefit of the Senora Poeblar and little Quetzal.

When he had done, she mentioned for the first time that they would not normally have been on the road so late in the evening had not one of the horses cast a shoe in mid-afternoon. That had slowed their pace to a walk for several miles, and held them up when they reached a wayside village for the best part of an hour while the smith was fetched from his field to re-shoe the horse. She added that she blamed herself for having let Hernando ride on ahead to secure accom­modation in Nevers, but it was a routine that they had adopted for the afternoon ever since leaving Fontainebleau, and she had not thought to alter it that morning after her escort of hussars had turned back.

All things considered they thought themselves lucky to have escaped as lightly as they had. But they agreed that with the protection they now enjoyed there was a very good chance that de Roubec would throw in his hand, return to Paris and report that the task he had been given was beyond his powers of fulfilment.

In the early afternoon they arrived at a little town called St. Pierre, where they meant to pass the night. The only inn there was the usual miserable place lacking both common rooms and glass windows; but it was one of the penalties of journeying by short stages that travellers who did so were forced to feed in their bedrooms. As Roger knew by experience, in such places single travellers often had to share a room with one or more strangers, the landlord was also usually the cook and the chambermaids, almost invariably ugly, uncouth slatterns. There was never any garden to sit out in, the beds were bug-ridden and the other furniture either of the poorest quality or non-existent. The only point in which they were superior to their English counterparts was that they offered not more, but a greater variety of food.

However, persons of quality who travelled in France took every precaution to minimize such discomforts, carrying with them their own beds, window curtains, and even folding furniture, as though they were proceeding on a military campaign. And Isabella was no exception to the rule. In half an hour the best of the three rooms in the place had been made tolerably comfortable, and Roger installed on his own bedroll to rest after his journey. He still felt weak from his loss of blood, so dozed for most of the rest of the day, while Isabella whiled away the time playing chess with her duenna.

The following day they moved on to Moulins, and found it a sur­prisingly poor, ill-built town for the capital of the rich Bourbonnais and seat of the King's Intendant. The Belle Image, at which they put up, proved a more spacious but scarcely cleaner hostelry than the pigsty in which they had passed the previous night, and on Roger sending out for news-sheets he was surprised to learn that none was available, even in the cafes. As with everywhere else in France, the town was agog with political speculations, but all were based on the wildest rumours and authentic news entirely lacking.

On the 6th they passed through pleasant country again, making a slightly longer stage of thirty miles, to St. Pourcain. They arrived to find the place in a tumult, and it transpired that a foreigner had been arrested on suspicion of most nefarious designs. Further enquiry elicited the fact that he was a German who had been caught pacing out the measurements of some fields just outside the town and making notes of their acreage in a little book. Later, when his papers were examined, it emerged that he was a perfectly honest gentleman with large estates in Pomerania, who, on travelling through the Bour­bonnais, had been struck with the richness of its soil compared with his own semi-sterile lands, and had formed the project of buying a property in the neighbourhood. But it was several hours before the local authori­ties could persuade the angry, ignorant peasantry that he was not an agent of the Queen who had been sent to measure their land with a view to doubling the taxes upon it.

As Roger and Isabella were discussing the matter that evening he asked her: "Why is it that so many people who have never even seen Madame Marie Antoinette believe her capable of the most abominable immoralities, and regard her as deserving of such universal hatred?"

Isabella sadly shook her head. "It is a tragedy, and all the more so in that when she first came to France her beauty and graciousness instantly won for her the adoration of those very masses that now curse her. But she has since been the victim of many unfortunate circum­stances over which she had no control."

"I pray you tell me of them," Roger said. "I know most of her story, but since, until quite recently, she has played no part in politics I find this long, gradual decline in her popularity quite inexplicable, and the problem fascinates me."

Settling herself more comfortably on her cushions, Isabella replied: "She has been dogged by bad luck from the very moment that she arrived at Versailles as Dauphine. Then, she was a child of fourteen, lacking in all experience of intrigue; yet she found herself at once forced into the position of leader of the set that was striving to bring about the ruin of Madame du Barri. Her mother, the Empress-Queen Maria Theresa, had counselled her to conciliate her father-in-law's powerful mistress; but all her instincts revolted against making a friend of that rapacious, gutter-bred courtesan.

"Instead, she quite naturally showed her liking for the du Barn's enemy, the Due de Choiseul, who, as Prime Minister, had negotiated the Franco-Austrian alliance and her own marriage. He and his friends represented all that was best in France, but for years they had been fighting a losing battle against the greedy libertines with whom the bored, immoral old King surrounded himself; and soon after Madame Marie Antoinette's appearance on the scene the struggle ended in the du Barri's favour. De Choiseul was sent into exile and the du Barn's protege, the unscrupulous Due d'Aiguillon, was made principal Minister in his place. Unfortunately the little Dauphine had already shown her colours too plainly to be forgiven her partisanship, and she had committed the unhappy error of backing the losing side. She could not be dismissed with de Choiseul and his friends, but with their departure she was left almost isolated. Within a few months of her coming to France most of the important places at Court were filled by people who knew that they would not have been there had she had her way, and whom she received only because she had to."

Roger nodded. "That was certainly a most unfortunate start for her."

"It was more than that; it has influenced her whole reign. Four years later when she and her husband came to the throne they swept clean the Augean stable. But it was not only the du Barri who was sent packing. Out of greed a considerable section of the nobility of France had prostituted itself in order to grab the wealth and favours that it had been so easy for the du Barri to bestow. They too found themselves debarred the Court and all prospects of advancement under the new reign. In consequence, scores of powerful families have nurtured a grudge against the Queen ever since."

"But why the Queen and not the King?"

"Because they count him too lethargic to have bothered to deprive them of their sinecures unless she had pressed him to do so; and it was she, not he, who originally championed de Choiseul against them."

Isabella ticked off her little finger. "So you see that is one set of unrelenting enemies who for fifteen years have lost no opportunity of blackening and maligning poor Madame Marie Antoinette. From the beginning too she had to contend against the spiteful animosity of the Royal Aunts, Louis XV's three elderly unmarried sisters. Madame Adelaide was the leading spirit of those stupid, gossiping old women. She both hated the Austrian alliance and resented the fact that a lovely young princess had come to take precedence over her in doing the honours of the Court; so she egged on the other two, and between them they formed a fine breeding-ground for malicious tittle-tattle about their impetuous niece.

"Then," Isabella ticked off another finger, "there were her husband's two brothers, the Comte de Provence and the Comte d'Artois; both of whom were much cleverer and wielded considerably more influence at Court than he did. Monsieur de Provence has pretences to learning, but he is a narrow pedantic man and possessed of the most poisonous tongue in the whole Court. From boyhood he has despised and hated his ungifted elder brother and even at times given vent to his rancour that the simple, awkward Louis barred his way to the throne. To a nature so warped by gall and jealousy the Dauphin's acquisition of a lovely wife could only mean the distillation of further venom, and Monsieur de Provence has never yet lost an opportunity of bespattering Madame Marie Antoinette with lies."

"Well, at least Monsieur d'Artois has proved her friend," Roger put in.

"In some ways, perhaps," Isabella shrugged. "Yet he, too, helped to damage her reputation, even if unintentionally. He is certainly very different from his elder brother, for where Monsieur de Provence is fat and stolid he is slim and elegant; moreover he possesses wit and charm. But he is a shallow man and from his youth has indulged in flagrant immoralities. The Queen made a friend of him only from loneliness, and a young girl's natural craving for a little gaiety. As her brother-in-law she felt that she could go with him to parties that her husband was too mulish to attend, and yet remain untouched by scandal. But in that she proved wrong. 'Tis said that one cannot touch pitch without blackening one's fingers, and it proved true in this case. Her enemies seized upon Monsieur d'Artois's evil reputation to assert that since she was often in his company she must be tarred with the same brush."

Isabella held up four fingers. "You see how these things add up; and we have not yet come to the end of the Royal Family. The Queen's ill-luck persisted even to her sisters-in-law. As you may know, both Monsieur de Provence and Monsieur d'Artois married daughters of King Victor Amedee of Sardinia, and the princesses of the House of Savoy have never been famed for their good looks. One can perhaps forgive these two sallow, pimply creatures for being a little jealous of the beautiful golden-haired Dauphine; but, unfortunately, to their ugliness were added narrowness and spite. They hated her from the outset and combined with the Royal Aunts to invent malicious stories about her. Both of them gave birth to children several years before Madame Marie Antoinette was so blessed, and both took every chance that offered to mock her covertly with her barrenness. Then when she at length produced an heir, their rancour knew no bounds. And with the second son born to the Queen it, if possible, became intensified, as each such birth has placed their own children further off in the line of succession could have gone on for ever listening to her soft, melodious voice with its fascinating Spanish accent.

But he had never lost sight of the trouble and grief they would be laying up for themselves if they entered on an affaire; and he knew that even to start a light-hearted flirtation would be to step out on a slippery slope which might swiftly send him slithering headlong into passion. So he had watched himself like a hawk, and whenever their conversation had tended to grow sentimental he had gently guided it into other channels.

Now, after that morning's episode, he blamed himself for the rash impulse which had led him to call her by her name, because she had inadvertently used his in a moment of excitement. Quite apart from any unhappy aftermath that an affaire with her might bring to himself, he was now more than ever convinced that it would be a wicked thing to arouse her passions.

He had loved a number of women, and one desperately, but even that he had got over comparatively quickly, whereas Isabella was not of the type that having loved one man could soon find consolation in the arms of another. Roger was no moralist, but his innate decency made him acutely conscious that, since she could not hide the fact that she was strongly attracted to him, it was for him to protect her from herself. He had, so far, treated her with the courtesy due to a woman but the open friendliness he would have displayed to a man; and he knew that if the powder barrel created by their propinquity was to be kept damped down he must strive more rigorously than ever to preserve that attitude, despite the fact that there could now be no going back on their calling one another by their Christian names.

At midday they passed through a plain as flat as a lake with ranges of jagged mountains bounding it in the distance on either hand. Then, in the early afternoon, they came to the twin towns of Ferrand and Clermont, both perched picturesquely on volcanic hilltops. But the latter, despite its romantic situation, proved on closer acquaintance to be a stinking place of narrow streets and dirty hovels built of lava; so that they were glad to leave it on the following morning for Issoire.

Their way now lay through fascinating country where conic moun­tains rose in every direction, some of which were crowned with villages and others with old Roman castles; but the steepness of the gradients necessitated the passengers in the coach frequently getting out to walk. The Senora Poeblar always got out with the others, as, in spite of her fat, she was a strongly built old lady, and she seemed to enjoy the exercise; so for several quite long intervals during the day Roger was left on his own.

Six days of complete rest with a plenitude of good food and wine had now built him up again, and he would have liked to stretch his legs from time to time with the rest, but the heavy block of plaster in which his foot was set ruled that out of the question. However, he put these periods of solitude to quite good purpose, as a few days earlier Isabella had dug a Franco-Spanish dictionary out of her baggage and, with its aid, had started to teach him her language. She was giving him an hour's lesson each evening while their supper was being prepared, then at odd times during the day they ran through the phrases she had taught him; and now, while on his own, he passed the time in increasing his voca­bulary by making lists of words from the dictionary.

Owing to the hilly nature of the country they covered only seventeen miles that day, yet were much more tired than usual when they reached the little town of Issoire. It was here they learned that the States General had actually met. The news had come with the passing through of the Marseilles Mail early that morning. It was said that Monsieur Necker had made a long speech that had pleased no one, that the Third Estate was disgruntled because it considered that it had been treated like a poor relation of the other two, but that all the same the meeting had passed off without any disturbances; otherwise there were no details.

The next day found Isabella's party still wending its way slowly through the strange volcanic mountains of the Auvergne. As the strain on both horses and passengers was considerable they had decided to make another short stage of only eighteen miles to Brioud, and before the morning was far advanced they were all glad that they had not been more ambitious. It was now the 9th of May and with every day's journey further south it grew hotter, so that after ten o'clock even the Spaniards began to feel the heat, and Roger found the interior of the coach intolerably stuffy.

At the village of Lempdes they crossed a river spanned by a big single arch and a few hundred yards to the far side of it the way began to rise steeply again, so the coach made one of its periodic halts for the passengers to get out and walk. The Senora, Quetzal and Maria stepped down into the road, and Isabella was just about to follow them when she stumbled and almost fell.

Roger put out a hand and caught hers in an effort to save her, but before she could regain her balance she was thrown back against him, and for a moment they were pressed against one another as she lay half-sitting in his lap.

With a little gasp she pushed herself upright, then she laughed to cover her embarrassment and got out of the coach; but before Roger released her hand he could feel that it was trembling violently.

An hour later the coach halted at the bottom of another hill; again the Senora, Quetzal and Maria got out; but this time Isabella made no move to follow them. Instead she said to her duenna: "I have a slight pain, so I shall not walk this time."

The others commiserated with her, the door of the coach was shut and as it moved on they dropped behind.

She had spoken in Spanish but Roger now knew a few score words of that tongue, and he said:

"Did I gather that you are not feeling well ?"

They were still seated side by side. She turned her head and looked full at him. Their faces were only a few inches apart and her eyes were dilated with excitement, as she whispered: "I told them so. But it was a lie. I—I had to be alone with you."

Instinctively their mouths came together, and next moment they were locked in a wild embrace.

CHAPTER EIGHT

OF LOVE AND DEATH

ABOUT ten minutes elapsed before the coach breasted the hill and stopped to pick up its passengers. During that time neither Isabella nor Roger uttered a word. For them the ten minutes seemed barely two as they clung together in the first surge of passion. It was not until she actually kissed him that he realized how great a strain he had put upon himself these past few days in resisting the temptation to kiss her; while again and again her mouth sought his with the avidity of one seeking to slake a thirst after having been lost in a desert.

As the coach halted they started apart and swiftly sat back in their normal positions. The seat was deep and, in spite of the bright sunlight outside, the interior of the vehicle was semi-dark, so when the Senora climbed in she did not notice their flushed faces; and as it moved on she took Isabella's unaccustomed silence to be caused by the pain of which she had spoken.

The gradients were easier now and as the Senora had already walked some three miles that morning she was feeling tired, so none of them got out again until they reached Brioude.

The next day was a Sunday and normally Isabella's party would not have travelled on it, but she agreed with Roger that they should do so in order to minimize the delay in the delivery of the Queen's letter. Nevertheless, instead of starting at eight-thirty, as was their custom, they postponed their departure rill eleven, in order that they might first attend Mass. Having got herself ready for church, Isabella suddenly declared that her pain had come on again and excused herself from

going; so the Senora Poeblar went off with the rest, apparently quite unconcerned at leaving her with the still incapacitated Roger.

Normally, wherever he was, Roger followed the upper-class English practice of bathing two or three times a week, but on the Continent the custom was still regarded as eccentric and even dangerous. Instead, wealthy people of both sexes sprayed themselves lavishly with scent, bathing only with considerable ceremony three or four times a year, or when a doctor recommended a course of herb baths as a remedy for some illness.

During a journey people removed only their outer clothes at night and Roger had been assisted in this by the footman, Pedro. That morning he had been dressed and shaved himself while the others were getting ready for church, but as he had to keep his foot up he was still lying propped up on his bedroll.

While the Senora and the others were going downstairs Isabella sat looking at Roger, the blood draining from her face until it was as white as a sheet, her black eyebrows and full, crimson mouth standing out by contrast with startling vividness. As she heard them crossing the cobbled yard below the window she jumped to her feet and ran across to him. He opened his arms and with a little sob she fell into them.

After a few breathless kisses she drew back and cried: "Say you love me! Say you love me! Please, Rojé I implore you to!"

"Indeed I do, my beautiful Isabella," he replied, kissing her afresh. And he meant it, for after the preceding day's scene in the coach he had known that further resistance was useless, and the violence of her passion had now communicated itself to him.

"You swear it?" she demanded.

"I swear it! Surely you must have seen that for days I have been fighting against the impulse to make love to you ? Your sweetness has utterly overcome me; but I feared that to show my feelings openly could only bring you grief."

"Oh thank God! thank God!" she exclaimed, ignoring his last few words. "Never have I felt so shamed as after yesterday. What must you have thought of me? Yet I vow that far from being accustomed to behaving so I have always despised women who made advances to men."

"I know your mind too well ever to have thought otherwise," he assured her quickly. "How could anyone be constantly in your company for a week without realizing that your standards of conduct are as high as your person is beautiful ?"

"But Rojé, I have never felt for any man as I do for you," she hurried on. "The very touch of your hand makes me deliriously happy, yet terrifies me. How I shall bring myself to support Don Diego after this I cannot think."

"Don Diego?" he repeated.

"Yes. I have said nothing of it because each time I have broached the question of love or marriage you have turned the conversation to some other topic. But I am going to Naples to be married."

"Do you—do you regard your fiance" with affection?"

"How could I ? I do not even know him. He is my father's choice for me. I am twenty-two and should have been married long ere this, but Madame Marie Antoinette begged my father to let me remain with her until this spring; then he insisted that I must return to take my rightful place in Spanish society."

"This Don Diego, I suppose, is a gentleman of ancient lineage?" Roger asked a little bitterly.

She nodded. "He is El Conde Diego Sidonia y Ulloa. He has great estates in Castile and on his uncle's death he will inherit a dukedom. His father was one of the nobles who assisted Don Carlos to conquer Naples, so he also has estates there and in Sicily. He has lived in Naples most of his life and is one of King Ferdinand's Chamberlains. Even my father considers that a better match could hardly be found for me.

"What sort of a man is he?"

"He is just under thirty years of age, and said to be handsome."

"Mayhap you will fall in love with him, then." The second Roger had spoken he could have bitten off his tongue. The remark was not made cynically but it might easily be taken so, and in any case it sug­gested a lightness that was out of keeping with the moment. To his mingled relief and distress she took it literally, and confessed:

"I had hoped to. If I could have done that I might have brought him some happiness, or at least derived some pleasure from being his Condesa. But how can I ever do so now?"

He took her hands and pressed them. "Oh, Isabella, my poor precious, I would not have brought this willingly upon you for the world."

" 'Tis not your fault, Rojé. Neither is it mine. And I would not have had things otherwise if I could."

"I tremble with delight to hear you say it. Yet I know myself to be terribly unworthy of such love as yours."

"Why should you think that?" she asked seriously.

"Because I have loved much and—and been far from faithful," he replied with an effort.

She smiled. "Men are rarely faithful, That at least I know about them, so I count it no crime in you. But in all other ways you are different from any man I have ever met. Perhaps that is partly because you are English. If so the women of England are monstrous fortunate. My own countrymen are deserving of admiration, for they are upright, kind and chivalrous; but they consider it beneath their dignity to talk to any female as an equal. Frenchmen are clever and amusing but they are rarely sincere and where a woman is concerned think only in terms of her seduction. But you combine gallantry with gentleness; you show no trace of condescension in discussing with me matters upon which a woman's opinion is supposed to be worthless, and treat me with the gay camaraderie that you would use towards another man. 'Tis that in you, more even that your handsome looks, that I have come to love."

All too late Roger saw where he had erred. If he had displayed only an amused tolerance towards her intellectual leanings, or, better still, attempted to take liberties with her at the first opportunity, he would have repelled her and, most probably, nipped her embryo passion for him in the bud; but in the very method by which he had sought to do so he had defeated his own end.

Yet, now that his scruples had been willy-nilly overcome, he was much too human to allow his earlier misgivings to mar his delight in the love that she was pouring out so freely. Once more he took her in his arms, and for a while they mingled blissful sighs and kisses.

It was not until the time for the return of the church party drew near that he made one final effort to save them both from the slippery path they were treading. Putting her gently from him he said:

"Listen, Isabella, my love. I am but a gentleman of small fortune, and we both know that your father would not even consider a request from me for your hand."

"Alas," she sighed. "In that I fear you right beyond all question."

"Then had we not best use the chirurgeon's knife upon our passion before it begets a lasting obsession? That we have seen not a sign of de Roubec these past eight days can be taken as a fair indication that he has abandoned his designs upon the Queen's letter; and I am now sufficiently recovered to travel on my own. If you tell the Senora Poeblar that I am carrying a Government despatch, that will be reason enough to excuse my leaving you here and hastening on to Marseilles. For both our sakes I urge you to let me take post-chaise this afternoon."

"Nay, Rojé Nay!" she cried, flinging herself upon him again. "I beg you to do no such thing. We have but another week, or ten days at the most. My dear Senora is no fool and although she has said nothing of it I feel certain that she guesses already what is in the wind. Yet she is too fond of me to prove difficult, provided we are circumspect. Between here and Marseilles we can snatch many stolen moments alone together. For me they will be memories beyond price to treasure in the years to come. I implore you not to rob me of them."

To that sweet appeal there could be but one answer, and Roger made it with a fervour equal to her own. "So be it then, my love. When the time comes, part we must. But until then we will give no thought to the future."

At eleven o'clock the party set off as planned, to sleep that night at the little town of Fix. The country continued to be picturesque and hilly, so on half a dozen occasions the Senora, Quetzal and Maria got out to walk; but Isabella used her feigned indisposition as an excuse to remain with Roger. Whenever they were alone they seized the oppor­tunity to nestle in an embrace in the warm semi-darkness of the coach, and even when the others were with them in it they now secretly held hands.

That evening at Fix they learned fuller details of the momentous first meeting of the States General. The preceding Monday had been devoted to a solemn spectacle. The deputies had mustered at the Church of Notre Dame and, headed by the clergy of Versailles, marched to the Church of St. Louis to hear Mass and ask the blessing of God on their deliberations. The Third Estate, clad in humble black, had been placed in the van of the procession, while the King and Queen, sur­rounded by the Princes of the Blood, in gorgeous robes and ablaze with diamonds, had brought up its rear. The choice of so drab a uniform for the representatives of the people had been governed by ancient pre­cedent, but it had been much resented. Many of them were men of substance who normally dressed with some richness, so they considered it a deliberate slight that they should be forced to appear like supplicants in contrast to the nobles and higher clergy, who followed them decked out in all the splendour of rainbow-hued silks, satins and velvets.

The entire population of Versailles, numbering 60,000, had turned out to see the procession, and the crowd had been swollen to more than twice that number by great contingents from Paris and visitors from every province in France. Although the ceremony took place in the royal city, where practically everyone owed their living to the Court, it was the Third Estate which had received by far the greatest ovation. The nobles and clergy had been allowed to pass almost in silence; the King had been cheered but even his presence had not prevented a few catcalls at the Queen, and it was said that by the time they reached the church she was in tears.

On the Tuesday the Three Estates had met in the Salle des Menus Plaisirsy which had been chosen because it was an enormous room that was rarely used; but it had been hastily fitted up and no arrangements made to separate the deputies from such members of the public as could press their way in. The deputies had been summoned for eight o'clock but the proceedings did not begin till ten; and, during the long wait, while the clergy and nobles were allowed to wander about the big room the black-clad Third Estate had been herded into a narrow corridor.

Eventually, when everyone had taken their places, the King entered and formally declared the session open. The Keeper of the Seals delivered a lengthy oration outlining numerous reforms that should engage the attention of the Estates. Then Monsieur Necker started on an even longer speech, describing the state of the finances. On his voice giving out he had handed his script to a secretary, who read the rest of it, and between them they kept the deputies silently crowded on uncomfortable benches for four- hours. So had ended the first session.

Two things of great moment emerged from it. Firstly that although the assembly was invited to discuss an immense range of subjects no definite proposals of any kind were put before it by the Crown. Secondly that the King and his Ministers had shirked the vital issue as to whether the three Orders should sit and vote jointly or separately. This was all-important, as the deputies totalled 1,214, of which 621 were representa­tives of the Third Estate. So if the assembly functioned as one house, seeing that many of the poorer clergy and a number of the nobles were in sympathy with the champions of radical reform, the Third Estate would be assured of a clear majority over the other two. But the irresolute King had left the three Orders to argue the matter out for themselves.

On the 11th of May Isabella's party left Fix for Thuytz and soon after setting out they passed Polignac, where, even in that mountainous and romantic country, the castle from which the Queen's favourite took her title provided a feature of outstanding grandeur. It was very ancient, almost cubical in form, and itself perched upon a mountain that dominated the town.

As the coach crawled along the road a mile below it Roger asked Isabella her opinion of Madame de Polignac, and if she was as bad an influence on the Queen as people said.

"She is certainly not an evil woman," Isabella replied, "but just light-minded and rather stupid. They are a very ancient family but were far from wealthy, so cannot be blamed for accepting the riches that Her Majesty has showered upon them. It was Gabrielle de Polignac's simplicity and straightforwardness on her being presented at Court that first attracted the Queen to her. Her Majesty asked her to become one of her ladies-in-waiting but she said frankly that she and her husband could not possibly afford to remain at Versailles, so the Queen made a generous arrangement for her."

*'Yet 'tis said that the Polignacs have had millions out of the royal coffers."

"That is an exaggeration; but the Queen has certainly paid lavishly for her enjoyment of their society. She had Gabrielle's husband, Count Jules, made a Duke and secured for him the lucrative position of Intendant General de Postes. But it is his sister, the Comtesse Diane, who is the rapacious one of the family; she neglects no chance to abuse the Queen's generosity, and it is largely her extravagance which has given them the ill-name of greedy sycophants."

" 'Tis a pity, though, that, having had so many undesirable relatives forced upon her, the Queen does not choose her own friends more carefully."

"They are as varied as her tastes, and some are well worthy of her friendship. But, unfortunately, she has little ability to see below the surface. Your own first meeting with her was an instance of that. She liked you well enough to start with, then on being informed that you were a murderer and seducer her sense of justice led her to the im­petuous decision that you must be made to pay for your crimes; whereas anyone more discerning would have known from your open countenance that you could not possibly be capable of an unworthy action."

"I thank you for your good opinion of me," Roger laughed, but he wondered a little grimly what she would have thought of him if she knew that he now carried only a transcript of the Queen's letter and had sent the original to London.

On approaching Thuytz they entered a country of pine woods, which in the strong sunshine smelt delicious, but the inn there proved one of the worst at which they had yet stayed.

From Fix to Thuytz was one of the longest stages that they had so far accomplished, and next day they planned to do another to Montelimar, but luck was against them. A few miles short of Villeneuve de Berg a more than usually bumpy piece of road caused the back axle of the coach to crack, and although it did not actually break in two Manuel declared that it would be dangerous for them to proceed further.

As they always carried ample provisions against such an emergency, while help was being sent for they were able to picnic in the fringe of the beautiful chestnut woods that here spread for many miles covering all the lower slopes of granite mountains. In due course farm waggons arrived, to which the baggage was transferred and the coach, lightened of its load, was driven on at walking pace to the township. The rest of the day went in fitting a new axle to the coach, so it was not until the afternoon of Wednesday the 13th that they were ferried across the broad Rhone and reached Montelimar.

Here the post road from Lyons joined that upon which they had come from Paris, thereby doubling the traffic southward bound for the great port of Marseilles; so, for once, in the Hotel de Monsieur at which they put up, they enjoyed the comfort and good food of a first-class hostelry.

They enquired for news of the States General but no startling developments had occurred. After the first session the clergy and nobles had retired to deliberate in separate chambers, leaving the Third Estate in possession of the Salle des Menus Plaisirs; which later proved to have been a tactical error, since that had been officially designated as the meeting-place of the whole assembly, and was the only one to which the public were allowed admittance.

The next step was the verification of credentials, at which each deputy had to produce to his colleagues the papers proving him to have been properly elected and the actual person nominated to represent his constituency. This was obviously a matter which would occupy several days, but the manner of observing the formality had provided the first bone of contention. The question at issue was, should these verifications be carried out in a combined assembly or by each Order separately?

As the decision would so obviously create a precedent it was not surprising that both the clergy and nobles had decided on separate verification, the former by 133 votes to 114 and the latter by 188 to 47. The Third Estate had therefore been left high and dry, as they had no powers to act on their own, and they had begun to protest more vigorously against the other two Orders' refusal to join them.

At Montelimar, in addition to the welcome change that the well-run inn provided, the travellers enjoyed the delicious newly made nougat for which the town is famous; although little Quetzal ate himself sick on it.

It was Quetzal, too, who provoked an episode the following day that showed Isabella to Roger in quite a new light. After leaving Mont61imar they had passed through still hilly but sterile, uninteresting country to the old Roman town of Orange, reaching it early in the afternoon. Had Roger been able to walk he would have set off to view the ruins of the great stone circus and the fine triumphal arch, but he had to be content with a distant view of them before being carried upstairs to the principal bedroom of the inn.

As the day was very hot he was made comfortable near the open window, and the inn being a comparatively new one on the outskirts of the town he could see some way down the road where it wound into the country. After a little while Isabella and the Senora joined him there and he embarked on his daily Spanish lesson. They had been thus employed for about three-quarters of an hour when a little party of excited people emerged from round the corner of a nearby hovel, and came hurrying along the road towards the inn. The group was led by Quetzal, who was being half pushed along by a tall, gaunt peasant; at their heels there tagged two slatternly women and several ragged children.

With a cry of angry excitement at seeing her Indian handled in such a fashion Isabella jumped to her feet and ran downstairs. Roger, seeing that Quetzal had suffered no actual harm, did not unduly disturb him­self, but watched out of the window with mild interest to learn the cause of the trouble.

He liked Quetzal. The boy was a droll little fellow and could be very amusing at times; but generally he was inclined to be sedate, had charming manners and never obtruded himself, being apparently quite happy to play for hours with his toys or go off for walks on his own. His fearlessness was one of the things that Roger admired most about him. With his red-brown face, brilliantly embroidered clothes and feathered head-dress he presented an object calculated to arouse the amazement and possible hostility of the superstitious peasantry in any village—as they might easily have taken him for a Satanic imp sprung from the underworld. But, although groups of villagers often followed him about, he had the superb self-confidence of a true aristocrat. Evidently he considered that an Aztec Prince who was in the service of one of the first ladies of Spain could afford to ignore such lesser beings, since he never paid the slightest attention to the unkempt children who sometimes shouted and pointed at him.

Running to the boy Isabella tore him from the peasant's grasp, at the same time calling loudly to her servants. Hernando and Manuel came hurrying from the stable yard, upon which she screamed orders at them in Spanish. Instantly they seized the peasant and forced him to his knees in front of her. Then, snatching from Manuel a whip that he had been carrying, she raised it high in the air and brought it cracking down on the kneeling man's shoulders.

"Hi!" cried Roger from his dress-circle seat at the window. "One moment, Senorita, I pray I Before you belabour the fellow at least find out what is at the root of the matter."

Turning, she scowled up at him, her black brows drawn together, her brown eyes blazing. "Why should I? This scum laid hands on Quetzal! How dare he lay his filthy paws upon my little Indian!"

As she turned back to strike a second time, Roger shouted at her louder than before; begging her to desist until she had heard what the man had to say. It was only at his urgent plea that she lowered her arm, and by that time people were hurrying up from all directions. A number of scowling peasants had edged towards their kneeling fellow country­man but Pedro and the two hired guards arrived to reinforce Isabella, and it was clear that the locals were too cowed to venture on attacking her armed retainers. Then the landlord of the inn appeared and with a scraping bow to Isabella enquired what offence her victim had committed.

The lanky peasant and his women could speak no French but the landlord interpreted their patois, and it then emerged that Quetzal had had an argument with the man's nanny-goat. Whether Quetzal had teased the goat, or his unusual appearance had excited her to unpro­voked anger, could not be satisfactorily determined. The fact was that she had charged him and, instead of taking to his heels as most grown­ups would have done, the courageous little fellow had dealt with the situation in precisely the same way as he had seen a matador deliver the quité in Spanish bull-fights. Drawing his tomahawk he had stood his ground till the last moment, then side-stepped and neatly driven the pointed end of his weapon through the skull of the goat, killing it instantly.

Isabella and her Spanish servants were enraptured with Quetzal's feat, the Senora and Maria clapped loudly from the window, and Roger felt that whether the boy had first incited the goat or not he was de­serving high commendation for his bravery; but, even so, his English sense of justice still urged him to ensure that the peasant had a fair deal.

The miserable man pleaded that the dead nanny-goat had been his most treasured possession, as the milk and cheese she gave had formed the main items of food for his whole family; and, knowing the abject poverty of the lowest strata of the French peasantry, Roger believed that he was telling the truth. In consequence he urged Isabella to give the poor wretch a half a louis to buy himself another goat, but she would not until Roger offered to pay, and even then she was swift to devise a judgment that tempered charity with harshness.

Hernando, in his capacity of their courier, always carried a supply of ready cash, so handing him Manuel's whip she told him to give the peasant eight lashes with it and a crown for each. As she had expected, Hernando gave the man eight lashes and threw him only four crowns, but his cries of pain were instantly silenced at the sight of money. The sum was sufficient to buy him several goats, so the bystanders applauded the foreign lady's generosity and he and his family shuffled off grinning from ear to ear.

That evening while they supped Roger argued the ethics of the episode with Isabella, but he could not get her to see that her treatment of the peasant had been either unjust or brutal. She maintained that such creatures were for all practical purposes animals, and that if one failed to treat them as such they would in no time get out of hand and become a menace to all civilized society; that whatever Quetzal might have done the fellow had no right whatever to lay a finger on him, and had merited punishment just as much as if he had been a dog that had bitten the boy. She added by way of clinching the argument that had he been one; of her father's serfs in Spain she could have had his hand cut off for such an act, and that he was extremely lucky to have had anyone so eccentric as Roger present to get him compensation for his beating.

Knowing her to be normally the gentlest of women Roger found it strange to hear her setting forth such views; but he felt certain they were tenets that she had automatically absorbed in her upbringing, and no part of her personal nature. Cynically it crossed his mind that Louis XVI might not now be involved in such desperate trouble with his people if, earlier in his reign, he had had the firmness to give short shift to agitators and the dirty little scribblers who lived by producing scurrilous libels about his wife. But the thing that intrigued Roger most about the affair was the violence of the temper that Isabella had un­leashed. He had been right in supposing that her heavy eyebrows indicated that she could at times be carried away by intense anger, and that in addition to her father's intelligence she had inherited his well-known intolerance of all opposition to his will.

On the Saturday they temporarily left France to enter the Papal territory of Avignon, and soon afterwards arrived at the ancient walled city. It was here that early in the fourteenth century Pope Clement V had taken refuge on being driven from Rome. It had then become for the better part of a century the seat of Popes and Anti-Popes who were acknowledged by France, Spain and Naples in opposition to rival Pontiffs in Rome who were supported by northern Italy, central Europe, England and Portugal. The Great Schism of the Western Church had ended in the triumph of the Eternal City, but the domain of Avignon had been retained and was still ruled by a Papal legate.

As soon as they were settled in the Hotel Crillon Roger declared that even though his plaster-encased foot would not allow him to leave a carriage, they must not miss the opportunity of driving round a town with so many monuments of historic interests. The Senora Poeblar replied that she felt far from well, but had no objection to Isabella accompanying him provided they took Maria with them; so with Quetzal in the fourth seat of a fiacre they drove off in the strong afternoon sunshine to see the sights.

Even the hotel in which they were staying was of some interest, as it had once been the private mansion of King Henry III's famous Captain of the Guards, known for his indomitable courage as le brave Crillon; but infinitely more so was the Church of the Cordeliers, as it contained the tomb of the fair Laura, whose beauty had been made immortal in the poems of her lover Petrarch.

From the church they drove down to the mighty Rhone to see the remnant of that outstanding feat of mediaeval engineering, the Pont d'Avignon. The river here was so wide and swift that even the Romans had failed to bridge it, yet St. Benezet had succeeded in doing so in the twelfth century, and his bridge had withstood the torrent for 500 years. In 1680 the greater part of it had been washed away, but four arches still remained on the city side as a monument to his memory.

They then drove up the hill to the great fortress palace of the Popes, began by John XXII, which dominates the countryside for miles around; and it was here, while admiring the vast pile of stone, that Roger and Isabella first touched upon the thorny subject of their respective religions.

She opened the matter by remarking that she thought that Avignon, being in the centre of southern France, should form part of the French King's dominions instead of belonging to the Popes.

He replied: "I entirely agree. But since the Roman Church needs revenues to support its dignitaries it would naturally be loath to give up territories such as this from which it derives them."

She shook her head. "Through the centuries the Cardinals and other great Prelates have acquired the habit of living in pomp and luxury, but I think it contrary to the true interests of their calling. Priests, whatever their rank, should be humble, clean-living men, and if they were so their simple wants could be amply provided for by donations of the faithful, without their possessing any territories at all."

Roger looked at her in some surprise. "Again I agree; but I must confess that I find it somewhat strange to hear such sentiments ex­pressed by a Catholic."

"That perhaps is because, not being one yourself, you are ill-informed regarding modern thought in the highest lay circles of the most Catholic countries. Did you not know that it was my father who expelled the Jesuits from Spain?"

"Indeed I did not."

"It was so, and for excellent reasons. The Order of St. Ignatius had become the most glaring example of all that true servants of Christ should not be. In all but lip-service they had long abandoned their religious duties and, instead, devoted themselves to politics and intrigue. Worse still, in our South American Empire they had acquired vast territories which they ruled according to their own will and often in defiance of the King's commands. Their greed was such that they ground down the natives and treated them with the utmost barbarity to extract the last centime from them. The tyranny they exercised would have shamed any King, and their arrogance was such that they even kept their own armies; so that my father was compelled to dispossess them of their lands by force of arms."

"You amaze me," murmured Roger. "I knew nothing of all this."

Isabella shrugged. "That is not surprising, as it occurred twenty years ago and in a distant land. But there are other Orders that are near as irreligious as the Jesuits, and many of the convents in Spain and Italy are sinks of immorality; so I hope the time will come when they too will be suppressed."

"Such views might almost lead one to suppose that you incline to the Reformed Religion," Roger remarked after a slight hesitation.

"Then I fear I have misled you; for it stands to reason that all the Protestant Churches are founded on error. They owe their creation to men who have rebelled against Rome, either from pride or, like your Henry the Eighth, for the purpose of giving their own sinful ends a semblance of legality. Our Lord charged St. Peter with the founding of His Church and there has been no divine revelation since to justify any departure from the Apostolic Succession."

"Yet certain of the Popes have been far worse men than bluff King Hal of England."

"I do not deny it. Have I not just been deploring the type of life which has been led by many high dignitaries of the Church of Rome from mediaeval times onwards?"

"And how do you support your theory of the Apostolic Succession when we know that at one period the legally elected Pope lived here in Avignon while another in Rome wore the Triple Tiara? Half a century later, too, there were three of them each claiming to be God's Vicar on Earth, and all three were deposed in order to heal the schism by the elevation of a fourth who owed nothing to any of the others. In that upheaval of the Church the direct line from St. Peter was clearly broken."

"Such unfortunate disruptions and the personalities of the Popes themselves have no bearing on the matter. It is the unbroken teaching of the Church which counts. That enshrines the tradition of near two thousand years, and all the interpretations of the sayings of our Lord by the truly pious early Fathers remain unaltered within it."

"As a Protestant, I would maintain that the interpretation arrived at by the great Divines, who led the Reformation, have as much right to be considered valid as those made by monks and missionaries living in the third and fourth centuries of our era."

Isabella turned to smile at him. "Then 'tis fruitless for us to argue the matter. But this much I will admit. From what I have heard I believe the majority of your pastors do lead holier lives than those of our priests. And I cannot think that the way to Heaven lies only in the slavish observance of ritual; for Christ could not be so unmerciful as to reject any who follow His teaching according to their honest convictions."

As they drove back to their hotel Roger wondered what other surprises Isabella might have in store for him. Of the many French Catholics he had met the great majority had either taken their religion lightly and so much as a matter of course as scarcely to think about it, or had been secretly Freethinkers. Isabella's obvious faith coupled with broadmindedness was an entirely new brand of Catholicism to him, but the basis of it was clearly derived from her strong-minded father's contempt for a decadent priesthood.

On reaching the Crillon they found other matters to concern them. In their absence the Senora had become markedly worse. She was now feverish and complained of severe pains in her stomach. A doctor was sent for, who prescribed the almost universal remedy of the times and proceeded to bleed her. He was an elderly man and seemed sensible and competent, so when he was about to depart Roger waylaid him and raised the question of his foot.

The chirurgeon in Nevers had said that it should be kept in plaster for from two to three weeks, and now that a fortnight had elapsed Roger was anxious to get free of the heavy encumbrance that prevented him from walking. Moreover, he knew that even after the plaster had been removed it would take him a few days to regain the full use of his leg, and they were now only that distance by coach from Marseilles, where he would have to part from Isabella and look after himself on his voyage to Leghorn.

The doctor agreed to do the job there and then, so a small hammer was sent for and the plaster broken away. It was then found that Roger's healthy flesh had healed perfectly; but when he put his foot to the ground he could not stand on it, so he had to be assisted as usual to the table for supper.

As the next day was again a Sunday they had already planned to allow time for church, then to set off at eleven o'clock for Orgon; but before they retired that night Roger gave it as his opinion that the Senora would not be well enough to travel again till the Monday.

However, on the Sunday morning she seemed much better. She declared that the weakness she still felt was due only to the doctor having bled her the previous evening, and, although they urged her not to, she insisted on getting up to attend Mass.

Every day during the past week Roger and Isabella had succeeded in snatching a few brief, blissful interludes alone together, but they had been looking forward to a full, uninterrupted hour on this Sunday morning with a longing by no means untinged with disturbing thoughts. Neither had again referred to the all too short duration that an arbitrary Fate seemed to have set upon their love-making, but both were very conscious that the hour of their parting was now imminent, and that the Senora's attendance at church might provide their last opportunity of any length to give free vent to their feelings for one another.

Yet, in the circumstances, Isabella felt she could hardly again pretend an indisposition, as she had planned to do; since her duenna was still so obviously not fully recovered it would have been callous in the extreme not to accompany her. Therefore, reluctant as she was to do so, she got ready for church with the others, and after giving Roger a glance conveying her disappointment went off with them, leaving him to practise hobbling about on his game leg.

It was as well she did so, as half-way through the service the Senora was first overcome by a fainting fit, then, on their getting her outside, was taken with a violent vomiting. As soon as they got her back to the hotel she was put to bed and the doctor sent for again. He said he thought that she was suffering from some form of food poisoning and gave her an emetic, after which he bled her again, both of which processes weak­ened her still further.

That afternoon she became delirous and when the doctor called in the evening he could only shake his head. He told them that the emetic and bleeding should have purged the ill-humours from her system, so everything now depended on the strength of her constitution. In view of the soundness of her vital organs he thought her condition far from desperate but could give no further opinion until it was seen how she got through the night.

Isabella was terribly distressed and declared her intention of sitting up all night with her old gouvanante. Both Roger and Maria pressed her to let them take turns at watching by the sick woman, but she would not hear of it and insisted on their going to bed.

For a long time the delirious mutterings from the far end of the big room kept Roger awake, and even after they had ceased he found himself unable to do more than doze; so when Isabella tiptoed over to him at about two o'clock in the morning he was instantly wide awake. Stooping over him, she whispered:

"My love; she has just woken and is fully conscious. Her fever seems to have abated and I think she is much better. But she has expressed a wish to speak to you, and alone. I pray you go to her while I wait out on the landing. Restrain her from talking as far as you can, dear one, for 'tis of the utmost importance that she should conserve her strength."

With a whispered word of endearment Roger got up, pulled on his robe de chambre and as Isabella left the room, limped over to the Senora's bed.

At the sight of him the old lady's eyes brightened perceptibly, and she began to speak slowly in Spanish. Knowing how little he as yet understood of that language she used simple phrases, choosing her words with great care, and where she found difficulty in expressing herself simply she here and there substituted a word or two of Church Latin.

"Senor Rojé"she began. "I am nearly seventy. I am very ill. Perhaps my time has come. Perhaps the Holy Virgin is calling me. To­morrow I may not be able to speak to you."

With a feeble gesture she waved aside his protest and went on: "You love the Senorita Isabella. I know it. She loves you. It is a fire that burns in both. Without me she will be defenceless. She is very headstrong. If you lift your finger she will give all. Then she will wish to remain with you. But soon she will have bitter regret. Her whole life ruined. I beg you not to tempt her. To reject her even. Then her pride will make her leave you and go on to Naples. I beg you save her from herself, and let her go."

Roger had failed to grasp a word here and there, but he understood her meaning perfectly. It had not previously even occurred to him that if the Senora died, Isabella, finding herself free from restraint, might refuse to go through with her projected marriage. Staring down at the big, once-handsome face on die rumpled pillows, that now, in the candle-light, appeared a frightening mask, he nodded assent.

The old duenna gathered her remaining strength and whispered: "You must be strong for both. You will not bring shame and regret upon her. I know you will not. If you are cold towards her the fire she feels for you will in time die down. Promise me .. . Promise me that you will not make the Senorita Isabella your mistress."

Feeling that he could not possibly reject such a plea, Roger said firmly: "I promise." The Senora smiled at him, took one of his hands in hers for a moment and pressed it gently, then closed her eyes.

Limping over to the door he beckoned Isabella inside; and on her asking in a low voice what her duenna had wanted with him, he replied: "She is anxious that you should get some rest, so asked me to sit by her for the rest of the night."

At seven o'clock the doctor came. He thought the patient slightly better and hoped that the crisis would be passed by midday. But by ten o'clock the Senora had become delirious again, and Isabella, now in tears, decided to send for a priest.

Half an hour later the tinkling of the mournful little bell, that announces the passing of the Host through the street, was wafted to them on the hot air coming through a window that Roger, in defiance of French medical practice, had insisted on opening.

For a while the priest sat with them. Then, as the sick woman seemed to be getting weaker and showed no sign of returning consciousness, he administered extreme unction. At a quarter past twelve the Senora Poeblar was dead.

Isabella was utterly distraught, so Roger took charge of all arrange­ments. The muscles of his foot were getting back their life, so with the aid of a stick he was now able to hobble about fairly rapidly. He had Maria put her mistress to bed in another room and move all their things there; and had his own moved by Pedro to a separate apartment. Quetzal he sent out to go fishing in the river with Hernando. Then he saw an undertaker, had the Senora laid out surrounded by tall candles, gave the priest money to send people to pray by her body, and settled the hour at which the funeral should take place on the following day.

He did not see Isabella again until the funeral. At it she wore a mantilla of black lace so heavy that it was impossible to see the expres­sion on her face, but it seemed that her calm was restored as she did not break down during the ordeal. As Roger gave her his arm to lead her to the coach she pressed it slightly, but she addressed no word to him, except to thank him formally in a low tone for the trouble he had been to on her behalf. On their return he escorted her up to her room, but as she did not invite him inside he left her at the door. He thought that she would probably send for him that evening, but she did not, so he supped on his own again and wondered with some anxiety what developments the next day would bring.

On the Tuesday at ten o'clock she sent Quetzal to him with a note, which simply said that she would like him to take her for a drive, so would he order a fiacre and fetch her in half an hour's time.

When he went to her room he found her ready dressed to go out, but much to his surprise her costume displayed no trace of mourning. Catching his thought she said with a smile:

"I have decided that from today I will start a new life, so with the old one I have put off my mourning."

Her declaration filled him with instant perturbation, but he tried to hide it by replying, somewhat inadequately: "I too have always felt that the dead would prefer us to think of them as happy, rather than have us wear the trappings of gloom to symbolize their memory." Then he offered her his arm to take her downstairs.

As she left the room she remarked: "I am taking neither Maria nor Quetzal with me, since 'tis as well that they should recognize from the beginning my new freedom to be alone with you when I wish."

Such an indication of the form she meant her new life to take redoubled his uneasiness, and with his promise to the Senora Poeblar only too present in his mind, he said seriously: "All the same, my dear one, I am very anxious not to compromise you."

"I know you too well to believe otherwise," she smiled. "But a carriage drive at midday will hardly do that; and soon there will be no need for us to worry ourselves about such matters."

At her words he felt at once both reassured and miserable. Evidently the Senora had overestimated Isabella's passion for him, or her sense of duty was so strong that she had no intention of allowing herself to be led into betraying Don Diego before their marriage. He had feared that to keep his promise he would be called on to exert his utmost strength of will, but it seemed clear now that while she meant to make the most of her last few days with him she had no thought of using her freedom to allow him to become her lover. Yet his relief at escaping the ordeal of having to refuse such a delectable temptation was now more than offset by his unhappiness at the thought that in a few days she would be on a ship bound for Naples, and lost to him for ever.

They drove out of the city by the Port Crillon and, turning left, along under the great castellated wall, until they reached the river. Some way along its bank they came to a low eminence from which

there was a fine view of the broad, eddying torrent, and here Isabella called on the driver to stop.

It was again a gloriously sunny day, and neither of them spoke for a few moments while they admired the view across the rippling water to the further shore.

Then Roger stole a glance at Isabella. The thought that he was so soon to lose her now caused him an actual physical pain in the region of his solar plexus. Here in the strong sunshine of the south her skin no longer had even a suggestion of sallowness but appeared a lovely golden brown. Her dark eyebrows seemed to blend naturally into it, her black ringlets shimmered with light where they caught the sun, her lips were a full, rich red and her profile delicate. And he knew her to be the most gentle, honest and lovable of companions.

Turning, she caught his glance and said: "Well, you have not yet asked me what my new mode of life is to be."

"Tell me," he smiled. "My only wish is that it will bring you happiness."

"Then your wish is granted," she smiled back. "For it lies solely with you to ensure it. I have made up my mind not to go to Naples. Instead I intend to make you a most devoted wife."

CHAPTER NINE

MEDITERRANEAN IDYLL

HAD the bottom fallen out of the carriage Roger could not have been more shaken. From the beginning the possibility of marrying Isabella had appeared so fantastically remote that he had never given it a second thought. That she should secretly become his mistress for a brief season had always been by no means improbable, as, provided they were circumspect, she could have done so without sacrificing anything except, possibly, her virginity. But by marrying him she would at once lose her status as a great lady and the obvious highroad to a brilliant future, besides being repudiated by her family and excommunicated by her Church.

Quite unsuccessfully he strove to hide his amazement and con­fusion; but as it had not even entered her mind that he might be unwilling to marry her, she took them as a charming compliment and was simply joking when she said: "Will you have me for a wife, Monsieur, or must I cast myself into the river and die a virgin?"

That settled one point for him, although for the past week or more he had had little doubt upon it. A little breathlessly he said: "Isabella, my beloved, I am so overcome at the joy and honour you propose for me that I can no longer find words to express my feelings. But what of your family? Are you indeed prepared to sacrifice all that they must mean to you for my sake? For I fear your father and mother will never forgive your making so poor a match."

"Is it not said that a woman should leave all and cleave to the man she loves?"

"And what of the difference in our religions?"

"I will not pretend that I am not reluctant to place myself outside the rites of the Church. But as I told you on Saturday, I do not believe that the way to Heaven lies in the observance of rituals. If you are un­willing to be received into the Church of Rome I will marry you by a Protestant ceremony."

Roger felt shamed and humbled in the presence of such a love, but he knew it to be his clear duty to point out to her the worst aspects of the marriage she contemplated, so he forced himself to say:

"Money is a sordid thing, yet happiness often hinges upon the possession of at least a near sufficiency of it by each person in accordance with their upbringing. From your childhood you have lived in great luxury, and I am far from rich. It would break my heart to see you pining for things to which you have been accustomed, and be unable to procure them for you."

"I have no fear of that. I hate ostentation and my personal tastes are simple. From what you have told me you are in receipt of a regular allowance, and that, though small, should suffice to keep us from actual starvation. Then, seeing that you are an only son, and your father is a man of some substance, there seems good reason to suppose that he will increase it on your marriage. But, whether he does or no, however angry my own father may be at my marrying without his consent he is much too fond of me to allow me to want for the means to live respectably."

"Think you then that after a time your parents will forgive you ?" Roger asked in some surprise.

"My mother will not. She is deeply religious and so under the thumb of her confessor that I doubt her ever forgiving my marriage to a heretic. But my father is of a different mould. He is too old now and in his life has climbed too high to be any longer a slave to his ambitions. Naturally, for the sake of our house, he would like me to make a suitable alliance, but I am sure that my happiness means more to him than such second-hand aggrandizement. He will have no cause for shame in my marriage to an honourable gentleman who is an English Admiral's son, and he is too broadminded to allow the religious question to dominate his affections."

From all she said it seemed that their prospects were far better than Roger would ever have imagined they could be in such circumstances. Every instinct urged him to have no further scruples about taking this lovely, rich, sweet-natured bride; yet the words of the dying Senora Poeblar persisted in ringing in his ears. True, it was no longer any question of making Isabella his mistress, so that if she remained with him for any length of time their relationship must inevitably bring shame and unhappiness upon her; but the Senora had so clearly felt that if given time the fires of Isabella's passion would die down. Ought he not to ensure a fair margin of time for that possibility to take effect, before allowing her to commit herself irrevocably to this drastic step which would revolutionize her whole life? With that in mind he said:

"Since there seems some prospect of your father eventually becom­ing reconciled to you, it would perhaps considerably increase it if you wrote first explaining our circumstances and asking his consent to our marriage; albeit making plain that in any case you could not be dis­suaded from it. He would then have less cause for umbrage and might, at a pinch, become a willing party to the design."

"Nay," she cried swiftly. "That I will not do. I have too many relatives and he too many powerful friends for me to risk it. Some of them would surely get wind of our whereabouts and seek to take me from you. They would even use force if all else failed."

He brought himself to adopt another line. "All the same I am against any hole-in-the-corner marriage, as unworthy of you. Would you be willing to trust yourself to me until I can take you back to my mother in England ? I vouch for it she could not fail to love you, and there we could be married with the solemnity and happy rejoicings which are beyond hope of attainment for a couple situated as we are, here in France."

"My trust in you is absolute," she smiled. "And now that we are pledged to one another I am not wild to marry you on the instant. I will gladly do so tomorrow if you wish; but if you prefer to wait a month or two the joyous anticipation I shall feel will amply compensate me for exercising patience."

"Damme! I do not prefer to wait!" he blurted out. "How I will find the patience to support so long a delay in making you truly my own I cannot think. Yet my sense of fitness tells me there are good reasons for it."

"I think you right. And the admirable restraint you put upon your­self makes me love you all the more. Yet the sooner we can get to England and be man and wife the better I will be pleased."

"I fear I am committed to deliver Her Majesty's letter first," he said with a genuine sigh.

She nodded. "I had not forgot it. And on account of your wound its delivery has been overlong delayed already. Let us set out for

Florence tomorrow then, and as soon as you have completed your mission seek a ship in Leghorn which will carry us to England. But while we are in Florence we must have a care. The Grand Duchess is the daughter of the late King Carlos III of Spain. When she married she took an aunt of mine with her to Florence as one of her ladies-in-waiting. A year or two later my aunt married a Florentine nobleman named Count Frescobaldi, and still lives there. Should she get wind of my presence in the city she will wonder why I have not sought the hospitality of her palazzo; and if she learnt that I am lying at an inn in the company of a handsome Englishman instead of a duenna we might be hard put to it to get away."

After pondering a moment, Roger said: "Perhaps then it would be safest if I left you in Marseilles while I deliver the letter to His Highness; although I would be very loath to do so, particularly seeing the un­settled state of France."

"Nay!" she cried, grasping his hand in sudden panic. "I beg you never leave me from now on. I could not bear it. In spirit I am married to you already, and for the rest I am content to wait. But if I were parted from you even for a week I would die of anxiety that some frightful thing might prevent your returning to me. No! To Florence you must go, but I will go with you."

"Then it had best be under an assumed name; and we will make all possible haste to be through with the business."

"You are right on both counts," she agreed swiftly. "And I shall not rest easy until we are on a ship bound for England. But tell me more now about the country that holds so sweet a future for me. I am anxious to hear every detail you can give me of it."

He laughed. " 'Tis the custom there that immediately upon a couple. pledging their troth they should kiss. We have not done so yet and can scarce do so here in the open. Let us drive back to the hotel, in order that I may pay the tribute that I am so eager to give to my beautiful fiancée."

When they got back he produced the fine ring that Madame Marie Antoinette had given him. It was a little large for Isabella's engagement-finger but she was enchanted with it; and it made him very happy to think that fortune had provided him with a jewel for her of much greater value than he could ever have afforded to buy.

That evening after supper she asked him to haul out from under her bed two heavy brass-bound coffers. He knew them well by sight, as when the coach was on the road they travelled concealed in a secret compartment under a false bottom to the coachman's box, but each evening they were carried up to her room, and it was for their protection as much as her own that either Hernando or Pedro slept rolled in a rug outside her door every night.

Kneeling down she selected three keys from the bunch at her girdle and opened the larger chest. Roger had naturally assumed that it contained money, but he was positively staggered by the amount and value of the coin in it. Apart from a few rouleaux of silver ecus for im­mediate needs, it was three-quarters full of Spanish gold. Nearly all the coins were the equivalent of £5 pieces, as large as a crown and weighing an ounce. Most of them had been minted in America and bore the head of King Carlos III with the individual markings of Mexico or Peru. He had never before seen so much gold in his life and could not even form a rough estimate of its value.

But Isabella laughed up at him and said: "This is the residue of the allowance that my father made me these last few years. As I lived at Court and mainly at Her Majesty's expense it was far more than I needed. There must be all of a thousand doubloons here, so you see we have ample funds to support us for some time to come."

Turning to the smaller chest she picked out another group of keys and unlocked that. It contained her jewels; ropes of pearls, gem-encrusted crosses, rings by the score, ornaments for hair, neck, wrists and corsage. As she opened case after case the diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires flashed and scintillated in the candlelight. Laughing up at him again she said:

"These are all mine. Most of them were left to me by my great-aunt, who was a Duchess of Alva. Were they sold they would fetch at least a hundred thousand ecus; so I do not come to you as quite a pauper. If need be we will sell some of them from time to time to provide ourselves with little luxuries."

Roger was neither avaricious nor a spendthrift, and although he was normally generous by nature he had inherited from his Scottish mother's family a very sound appreciation of the value of money. So, soon after­wards, when he was undressing in his own room, he could not help it flitting through his mind that Isabella's fortune in gold and jewels gave them a much better prospect of living in happiness and contentment than they would otherwise have had.

Some £30,000 was no mean sum on which to start married life, and it relieved his mind of the only real anxiety that he had felt on accepting Isabella's proposal. He realized that in that he had had little choice, as without loss of honour he could have done nothing else; but for her character and beauty alone he had been fully willing to make her his wife, and now, as a fine bonus to all else, she was bringing him a hand­some fortune. By postponing their actual marriage for a month or so he felt that he had observed more than fairly with the Senora Poeblar's dying concern for her charge. But he considered it most unlikely that Isabella would now change her mind. So before he dropped off to sleep he decided that he was a monstrous lucky fellow.

Now that they were nearing the end of their journey by road there was no longer the same need to spare the horses, so on the Thursday and Friday they made two long stages, sleeping at Salon the night and arriving at Marseilles late on the evening of May the 22nd.

The following morning Roger went early to the harbour to find out about sailings to Leghorn, and learned that no ship was leaving for the Tuscan port until the 28th. However, the ship concerned was a fine four-masted barque, which had been for some time in port under­going repairs, and on learning that its Captain frequented the Cafe d’Acajou, Roger repaired there for breakfast in the hope of meeting him.

At the cafe he was informed that the Captain rarely came in before ten o'clock, so while waiting for him he seized the opportunity to acquaint himself with the latest news. Unlike most of the small towns in which he had stayed the night on his way from Paris an abundance of news-sheets and pamphlets was available, and as he ate he scanned a number of them.

The three Estates had got little further and were still bickering on the question of separate or joint verification. Le Chapelier, a Breton deputy to the Third Estate, had proposed to cut short the controversy by declaring that they would recognize as lawful representatives only those whose powers had been verified in a joint assembly. But more moderate councils had prevailed and on the 18th of May commissioners had been appointed to confer with representatives of the nobles, while nominees of the clergy attended the debate acting as friendly neutrals.

After Roger had eaten he got in conversation with a man of fairly affluent appearance who introduced himself as a shipowner named Golard.

On Roger's remarking that he was pleasantly surprised to find the city so quiet after the ill-reports he had heard of it, Monsieur Golard shook his head gloomily.

"The sans-culottes are quiet enough for the moment. Now that the Estates have met they are expecting their representatives to secure the earth for them; but since no one can do that they will soon be raging the streets again. You should have been here in April."

It was the first time that Roger had heard the expression "lacking trousers" applied to the mob, but it was certainly descriptive enough of the miserable, ill-clad rabble that swarmed in the poorer quarters of France's great cities. Offering his snuff-box, he said: "The disturbances were, then, of a really serious nature ?"

"There were times when many of us feared that the whole city would be burnt about our ears," replied Monsieur Golard, after appreciatively sniffing up Roger's rappee. "The trouble started when the nobles met to elect their deputies for the States General. The mob surrounded their Assembly Rooms and became tumultuous past all hope of pacification. The meeting was broken up and the nobles, compelled to escape by the back doors, sought to regain their homes as privily as possible. But far from being appeased the sans-culottes then hunted out those most obnoxious to them, broke into their houses and pillaged everything. Among others the Bishop of Toulon was a marked object of their fury. He was fortunate to get away with his life disguised as a fishwife, but they entirely despoiled his palace and threw his horses and carriages into the sea."

"And what were the military about all this time?" Roger enquired.

"They were mustered at various points, but the riots soon assumed such formidable proportions that it was judged unwise to disperse them further. The Mayor ordered one party of soldiers to fire upon the crowd, with the result that he was dragged from their protection and most brutally butchered. The Comte de Caraman was in command of the garrison and he did what he could, but the numbers opposed to him were so great that his men were swiftly overwhelmed. He succeeded in disengaging the remnant and taking refuge with them in the citadel. As many of the rioters were armed they proceeded to besiege him there, and he and his men would inevitably have perished had he not sent to Monsieur de Mirabeau and begged his intervention."

"It is true, then," said Roger, "that the Comte de Mirabeau suc­ceeded in quelling the revolt solely by the use of his golden tongue ?"

"Had it not been for him the citadel would certainly have been burnt and many human beings have suffered a horrible death within it. He was similarly successful in putting a check on the rioting at Aix when it had proved beyond the power of the troops to do so. But here, even his eloquence could not prevent a continuance of more general anarchy and outrage. For days afterwards groups of sans-culottes went about burning houses, and robbing, maltreating, and even killing people whom they judged to be opposed to their horrid travesty of liberty; and it was highly dangerous for any well-dressed person to appear in the streets, or even show themselves at a window.'

"What think you of Monsieur de Mirabeau ?" Roger asked.

"He is undoubtedly a politician of great ability and, while the idol of the mob, not, I think, himself an extremist. But the general opinion here is that he is not to be trusted. I think he owed his election to the fact that we Marseillais are ever hot for action, so most of us would rather be represented by an able rogue than an honest man of no talent."

"Should the Third Estate succeed in their demand for one com­bined assembly, there seems a good chance of his becoming the new leader of the nation."

"Let us pray that they do not," said Monsier Golard firmly. "Did that occur all moderate opinion would be overborne and the extremists gain control of the State with some semblance of legality. Within a year the mobs would rule the cities and the peasants the countryside, so the remedy for our ills would be infinitely worse than the disease."

"What then is your own solution to the problem ?"

"No man of sense can deny that sweeping reforms are necessary if the country is to be made healthy again. But 'tis an ill thing to let a starving man gorge himself with red meat. His hunger should be appeased gradually, and so with the nation. To my mind there should be neither one Chamber nor three, but two, as they have in England. Then, however drastic the measures proposed in the Lower, they will have their dangerous edges taken off and be rendered practical by the Upper, before they actually become law."

It was by no means the first time that Roger had heard this solution propounded, as nearly all the leading French political reformers expressed a great admiration for the English system; and a very high proportion of the French middle classes were entirely with Monsieur Golard in being anxious for sweeping reforms, but at the same time desirous that they should be carried out in carefully considered stages so as not to unbalance the economy of the nation.

As the shipowner ceased speaking a big black-bearded man came into the cafe and he proved to be the Captain of the barque. It then transpired that Roger's meeting with Monsieur Golard had been particularly fortunate, as he was the barque's owner. In consequence a fair bargain for the transport of Isabella's party and her coach and horses to Leghorn was soon struck, and Roger returned to his hotel to report to his fiancée.

During the days they had to wait until the ship was ready to sail they explored the city and enjoyed many pleasant excursions. Isabella, who had come from Spain via Bordeaux, declared that its buildings, theatres and harbour were all much superior to those of Marseilles, but that the country round about offered more distraction.

They were now in the true south, a land of olives, vines, tamarisk, mimosa and flattish-roofed, lemon-washed houses. Isabella seemed to blossom in it, and as they drove along the dusty roads beside the blue Mediterranean Roger never tired of looking at her. Yet, during the hot, sultry nights there were times when he could not help regretting that he had not taken her at her word and been married to her by the first Protestant pastor he could run to earth. She, too, he could tell, was feeling the strain of their unsatisfied passion, and as they spent every waking hour in one another's company there was at present no prospect of that strain lessening.

He had begun to speculate feverishly on how long it would take for them to get to Florence and from there back to England, although he knew that such calculations could only be of the vaguest as so much would depend on the sailings of ships, wind and weather. So, when the

27th arrived, he was much relieved by the thought that they would soon be on their way again.

Quetzal had spent most of his time in Marseilles exploring the city with Hernando, and had thoroughly enjoyed himself; but the memories of the length, discomfort and squalor of his Atlantic crossing three years earlier now made him most averse to going aboard a ship. However, Isabella gently overcame his fears and they slept aboard the barque that night; then early on the morning of the 28th she stood out from the harbour towards the famous prison island of Chateau d'If. Their passage proved uneventful; the sea was kind and the winds fairly favourable, so they dropped anchor under the picturesque Fortezza Vecchia, in the harbour of Leghorn, on the afternoon of the 30th.

Neither Roger nor Isabella had ever before visited Italy, and on landing they were immediately struck by the strong contrast made by both the buildings and the people with those of the port from which they had sailed. Marseilles boasted few ancient monuments or examples of fine architecture, having grown up higgledy-piggledy; whereas Leghorn owed its expansion into a city very largely to the wealth and admirable taste of the Medici, so many of its mansions and churches possessed the serene elegance of the great Florentine builders. And, where the great majority of the inhabitants of the French port had been slatternly, ill-clad and depressed-looking, those of the Tuscan were far cleaner, better clothed and going about their business with an air of cheerful contentment. -

Roger took rooms for the party at a hostelry near the cathedral, the. fine facade of which had been designed by Inigo Jones, while he was studying architecture in Italy before using his genius to incorporate many elegancies of the Florentine style into the innumerable buildings with which he later beautified England. As the lovers were anxious to see something of the city, but could not linger more than a night there, they left Maria and Pedro to unpack, and hired a carozza with a French-speaking cicerone to take them and Quetzal for a drive.

The old town was pentagonal in shape, being entirely surrounded by broad canals, and set in a fertile tract of land that rose gradually to a range of hills dotted with white villas and farmhouses. In the gentle light of the summer evening it provided a scene of peace and prosperity; again in strong contrast to the barren poverty-ridden country outside Marseilles.

Roger remarked that many of the people they passed had a more oriental type of countenance than he had expected to find in Italians, and their guide told them the reason for this. In the sixteenth century Ferdinand de Medici had invited men of all nations to settle and trade in the city, and in addition to immigrants from all parts of Europe considerable numbers of Moorish, Hebrew, Turkish, Armenian and

Persian families had established themselves there. Moreover, as for just on a century Leghorn had been a Free City, with its neutrality guaranteed by the leading European powers, these little minorities had never been oppressed but encouraged to intermarry. He also told them with pride that all citizens of Leghorn enjoyed complete religious toleration; then took them to see the two-hundred-year-old Jewish synagogue and the big Protestant cemetery, in which Tobias Smollett had been buried eighteen years earlier.

That night, while still breathing the perfume from Isabella's last warm embrace, and with the knowledge that an English church and clergyman were within a stone's throw of his bedroom, Roger was sorely tempted to take advantage of her willingness for them to get married immediately. But it was that day only a fortnight since the Senora Poeblar's death, and with the memory of the old lady's plea that Isabella should be given time for the possible cooling of her ardour he determined to restrain his impatience.

Nevertheless, he was up by dawn next morning and, soon after, down at the docks making enquiries about a ship to England. A British vessel was sailing in three days' time, but he knew that it would be impossible for him to get to Florence, execute his mission and return in less than five days at the least. No other ship was sailing direct till the middle of the month, but a Genoese merchantman was leaving for India on the 7th, and would be calling at Gibraltar, from which it would be easy to pick up another ship en route for London; so he booked passages in her and hurried back to tell Isabella.

When he had done so he added: "Loath as I should be to leave you even for an hour, do you not think it would be wisest if I proceeded to Florence on my own ?"

"Why so ?" she cried, her big eyes opening wide with sudden alarm.

"On account of your aunt, the Contessa Frescobaldi," he replied. "You will recall, my love, that the day of bur betrothal you spoke of her, and said that should she learn of your presence in Florence"

"Why should she learn of it?" Isabella interrupted. "We disposed of that possibility by agreeing that I should change my name; and I can trust my servants not to give away that I have done so."

"All the same," Roger argued, "the very thought that you might be torn from me fills my heart with such sick dread that I am opposed to taking the smallest risk of it."

She laughed, threw an arm round his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Then you must love me very much. How wonderful! And how fortunate I am! But have no fear. I will remain within doors all the time we are in Firenze, or wear a mask when I go out. Such precautions will make my discovery next to impossible."

He still looked dubious, and persisted. "I agree that the measures you propose should afford you full security, yet all the same I would be happier in my mind if you remained here. I could not have brought myself to leave you in a place so prone to disturbances as Marseilles, but here in Leghorn all is quiet and orderly. Besides, I should not be absent long. Alone I could ride to Florence and back in two days, whereas by coach it would take us four. The Genoese ship sails on the 7th, so we have only seven clear days, and should I find difficulty in gaining access to His Highness's presence, those two days saved might make the difference between our getting our ship and missing it."

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "You contradict yourself, my love. First you say you would not be absent long, then that you may be detained in Florence some days before you can deliver the letter. No! No! If need be we will get a later ship; but I cannot bear to be separated from you. I insist that you take me with you."

"Then I will do so gladly," Roger smiled; but, although he gave in gracefully, he was still troubled by lingering doubts as to the wisdom of the decision.

Nine o'clock saw Isabella's coach upon the road again; and, as the mountains behind Leghorn denied the port any direct route inland, it was carrying them north-west towards Pisa. They ate "their midday meal in the ancient University city, under the vine-covered pergola of a little restaurant hard by the famous leaning tower; then in the after­noon drove on to Pontailera, where they spent the night.

The inn in this little market town proved as primitive as many that they had lodged at in France; but it had a far more cheerful atmosphere, and they were served with willingness and despatch. Roger had noticed, too, throughout the day, that die country-folk seemed not only of a different race but an altogether higher type than the French peasant. In France the round-shouldered, ageless creatures who worked in the fields were scarcely to be dignified by the name of women; but the olive-skinned Tuscans were sturdy, full-bosomed wenches wearing gaily coloured scarves, many of them having lustrous, thick black hair, fine eyes and strong white teeth which gave them a Junoesque beauty.

Had it not been for his eagerness to get home as soon as possible in order to marry Isabella, he would have been greatly tempted to prolong his visit to Italy. His love of travel was bound up with the fascination that history and art had always held for him, and he knew that Italy had more to offer in that way than any other country in Europe. Already, merely passing through two ancient cities had whetted his appetite for more and, added to that, he found the blue skies, smiling landscapes and cheerful people all most congenial to his sunny nature.

Next day they continued on their way through the plain of Tuscany. The roads in many places were avenues of pollarded trees, up which vines had been trained and gracefully festooned in garlands from one to another. Beyond them lay big plantations of olive trees, between which, strange as it seemed to English eyes, wheat was growing; while along other stretches girls in large, floppy straw hats were tending flocks of sheep for the woollen industry that had made Tuscany rich long before fine cloth was woven in England.

Late that afternoon they entered Florence, and struck as Roger had been by the architectural gems of Leghorn and Pisa he marvelled far more at those of the city on the Arno. Even on the outskirts hardly a new building was to be seen and most of the larger ones were from three to four hundred years old. On both sides of the river stood scores of noble mansions, their poems in carved stone vying with one another, and each possessed of an individual dignity; while a glance down every side street they passed provided a glimpse of new beauties in towers, churches and palazzos.

At length they came to the Ponta della Santa Trinita, said to be the loveliest bridge in the world, and here they were met by arrangement by Hernando. They had sent him on ahead with careful instructions that he was not to get them accommodation at the Aquila Nera, Vanin’s or Mr. Meggot's famous English-run hotel, but to seek out some smaller place where French was spoken, and there book rooms for them as Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc and his sister-in-law, Madame Jules de Breuc. Hernando told them that he had taken lodgings for them with a Signor Pisani at the del Sarte Inglesi, in the via dei Fossi; and when they arrived there they found it to be just the sort of quiet, respectable place that they had had. in mind.

An excellent meal was sent in for them from a cook-shop near by, and to Roger's surprise the charge, including a litre of sound Chianti, was only three pauls a head. As breakfasts and light suppers cost proportionately less and their rooms only two pauls each, it transpired that one could live well and comfortably in Florence for the modest sum of 35. 6d. per person per day.

After they had dined Roger left Isabella to amuse herself with Quetzal, went downstairs and got in conversation with the landlord. His habitual secrecy in everything to do with State affairs caused him to refrain from saying outright that he wished to secure an audience with the Grand Duke, so he opened the conversation by remarking on the beauty of Florence and the obviously happy state of the Tuscan people.

Signor Pisani was a fat, elderly man with enormous ears and small, wrinkled-up, humorous eyes. "The first, Monsieur, is incontestable," he replied; "the second an opinion expressed by the majority of our foreign visitors; yet comparatively few of my compatriots would agree with it."

"Why so, Signor?" Roger enquired. "I have heard it said that in His Highness the Grand Duke Leopold you have the most enlightened ruler in Europe, and the country through which I passed today showed every evidence of prosperity."

The fat man nodded. ‘I judge you right, Monsieur; but that is because when I was younger I travelled much. I have earned my living as an agent for Tuscan wines and olive oil, in France, England, the Austrian Netherlands, Cologne and Hanover; so I know how the peoples of other countries live. But the average Tuscan is conservative by habit, and resents all innovations. During his twenty-four years as our sovereign His Highness has made many, and instead of being grateful to him, as they should be, nearly every class thinks it has some reason for complaint."

Roger saw at once that his broad-minded landlord was a man well worth cultivating, so he said: "Having never before visited Italy I know nothing of Tuscan affairs, and would much like to learn of them. If you can spare the time to join me in a bottle of wine I should consider it a favour."

"Willingly, Monsieur," was the prompt reply, and five minutes later they were comfortably installed in Signor Pisani's parlour with a wicker-covered bottle of Chianti between them.

"We are at least more fortunate than our neighbours in the Duchy of Milan," began the fat Italian. "As you must know, for many years most of northern Italy has been subject to Austria, but in 1765 we succeeded in inducing the Emperor to give us a sovereign of our own. So in that year, when Joseph II succeeded his father as Emperor, his younger brother, Peter Leopold, became our ruler; although he was only then eighteen. Both brothers are men of advanced ideas and great reformers; but whereas Joseph is a hothead whose innovations have brought only disaster to the Milanese and his other subject peoples, Leopold is possessed of a more balanced mind, and his have brought great benefits to Tuscany."

"Why, then, these complaints you speak of?" Roger asked.

" 'Tis largely owing to the hatred borne him by the Church."

"Yet I have heard that he was educated for it, and is a most religious man."

"He was, and is. He became a sovereign only owing to the death of his elder brother, Charles; but his views on religion are far from orthodox. He considers it his business not only to censure the morals of his priesthood but also to reform the rituals of the Church itself."

"Does he incline to Protestantism, then?"

"By no means; although he expresses great repugnance to all customs bordering on the superstitious and the habit of making religious ceremonies into gaudy parades. For instance, one edict of his which has given almost universal offence is that concerning burials. By it all corpses are removed the night following death in a plain shroud to the nearest church. There they receive simple benediction, after which they are taken to a common mortuary. No candles or singing are allowed. The following day the bodies are taken in a wooden cart to the cemetery outside the city, and there buried without further ceremony, as they come, two in a grave; and at that lacking coffins. The law applies to high and low alike, so a noble lady may find herself buried side by side with a scrofulous pauper, or a priest next to a harlot."

"What an extraordinary idea!" Roger exclaimed. "And 'tis harsh indeed that families should be debarred from ordering suitably the last rites for their loved ones. I wonder that such an outrageous interference with liberty is not openly defied, and His Highness forced to withdraw so monstrous an edict."

The Tuscan shrugged. "We are by nature a law-abiding people, and have no means of forcing him to do anything. He is an absolute Monarch, and does not even make a pretence of consulting a Senate, as did the Medici. 'Tis fortunate for us that he is, generally speaking, a beneficent autocrat; yet his absolutism is another factor which makes for his unpopularity, as the demand for popular government in France is not without its repercussions here."

"In what other ways has he set Holy Church by the ears?"

"He and his principal adviser, Scipione Ricci, the Bishop of Pistoria and Prato, have encouraged the conducting of church services in Tuscan instead of Latin."

"I see no great harm in that."

"Nor I; but the old-fashioned resent it. However, 'tis the priesthood that bears him the most bitter grudge, owing to his having despoiled it of the wealth and power that it has enjoyed for centuries. Twenty years ago Tuscany was entirely priest-ridden. Thousands of begging friars blackmailed their way from door to door, and many thousands of monks idled their lives away in monastries battening on the labours of the peasants. Social custom, too, decreed that every girl lacking a dowry should take the veil; and you can imagine the state of things which followed the unnatural segregation of so many healthy young women. The father confessors and visiting prelates had by long custom come to regard the convents as seraglios, and as a result infanticide in one or other of them had become a daily occurrence. But Peter Leopold put an end to all that. He raised the age for taking the veil and made it in many other ways more difficult to do so, thus greatly reducing the number of young nuns; and in order to give the others something to think about, apart from lechery, he turned all the convents into schools for the education of the local children."

"That seems an admirable measure."

"True; but you cannot expect the priests to regard it in that light. Imagine, too, the wailing of the hosts of begging friars when a law was passed reducing their numbers by four-fifths, so that the majority of them were forced to return to the land and do an honest day's work upon it; and the outcry that was made by the monastic orders when certain of them were suppressed and their revenues taken from them."

"Then the Grand Duke has followed the examples of other monarchs, and enriched himself at the expense of the Church."

"On the contrary, Monsieur. He funded the money so obtained to abolish tithes, and provide better stipends for the poorer clergy."

"In that case both his peasantry and village priests should be grateful to him."

Signor Pisani shook his head. "Had the country folk any sense they would be, but they are ignorant and superstitious; so an easy prey to the multitude of monks and friars he has deprived of an easy living, who go about poisoning the people's minds against him."

"Yet surely in these measures he has had the support of the better educated among the laity?"

"To some extent; but they have their own complaints against other reforms he has introduced. He has deprived the nobility of nearly all their old privileges. In Tuscany now no one is exempt from taxation. All must pay according to their means. In that His Highness does not even spare himself. He even has the value of his art collections assessed each year and pays revenue upon them."

Roger raised his eyebrows. "That is indeed an altruistic gesture. Apart from his strange ordinance about burials he seems to me a model Monarch."

"He is certainly far better than most, for in a score of years he has doubled the wealth of Tuscany. By making all classes subject to taxation he has reduced the average to eighteen pauls per annum per head, which must be considerably lighter than anywhere else in Europe. I am told that even in England it is in the neighbourhood of forty-five."

By a swift calculation Roger arrived at 8s. as against £2, but Signor Pisani was continuing:

"In spite of that he has succeeded in extinguishing our National Debt, and by allowing free trade in corn he has brought its price down to a level which enables us to live cheaper here than in any other part of Italy. Moreover, he is always devising new ways to encourage trade and agriculture. Recently he has offered a gold medal every year for the proprietor who plants the greatest number of new olive trees, and the plantings of the winner this year exceeded forty thousand."

With a shake of his head Roger took up the Chianti flagon to refill the glasses, and said: "Really, in view of all this, despite the antagonism he has aroused among the priesthood, I cannot conceive why he is not more generally regarded with affection by his people."

His informative host sank his deep voice to a lower note. "I feel sure, Monsieur, that you will not repeat me, but His Highness has one failing which would render him obnoxious to any race. He is the most furtive and suspicious man that ever was born. I am told that at times he even deceives his most intimate advisers, and 'tis certain that he sets spies upon them. Not content with that, he sets spies upon the spies. His secret police are legion, his curiosity unbounded, and he is for ever prying into the private affairs of every official or person of any consequence at all in the whole country."

"When he learns that they have committed some fault does he act the tyrant?" Roger enquired.

"Nay; as a ruler he is remarkable for his humanity. He has much improved the dispensation of justice, abolishing the courts of the feudal lords, and securing for the meanest of his subjects the right of appeal to the highest tribunal. He has also done away with torture and reformed the prison system. But no one likes the thought that their every act is spied upon and reported."

"What sort of a man is he personally?" said Roger, now working round to the matter that particularly interested him. "Is he easy of access?"

"By no means," came the prompt reply. "He works too hard to be able to give the time to appear in public except on State occasions. And his natural secretiveness provides a bar against his indulging freely in social intercourse with his nobility. He is most autocratic in tem­perament, believing that the people are quite incapable of reforming themselves, and that their condition can only be bettered by divine inspiration interpreted through their rulers. That, too, is the main­spring of all his religious reforms, as he regards himself as established by God to be the guardian and tutor of his people. Yet, pious as he is by nature, he does not deny himself mistresses."

"That was also the case with the bigoted James II of England," Roger smiled, "and of Louis XIV of France, even when he was in the toils of the Jesuits."

"True!" laughed the fat Signor Pisani. "But did you set eyes on our Grand Duchess you would hardly blame His Highness for his infidelities. She is, as you may know, a Spaniard, and sister to die newly enthroned King Carlos IV. A plainer gawk of a woman 'twould be hard to find; she is as yellow as a lemon and pimply at that; so 'tis not to be wondered at that her husband prefers the beds of other ladies, and in particular that of the beautiful Donna Livia."

"Is this favourite mistress a noble lady or a courtesan?"

"She is an opera singer, and her voice, while good, is the least of her charms. She has Titian hair, green eyes and a figure ... Ah!" Lacking words to describe it Signor Pisano could only break off and kiss the tips of his fingers with a loud smacking sound in an attempt to show his appreciation.

"Is she accepted by the Grand Duchess and given apartments in the palace, as was Madame du Barri at the Court of Louis XV ?" Roger asked.

"His Highness's religious scruples do not permit him to acknow­ledge her openly," Pisani grinned, "so she lives in a house of her own near the Palazzo Pitti, and he goes there to sup with her most nights of the week, except Fridays and Sundays. But the Grand Duchess is so tolerant of her husband's weakness that she often visits his favourite as an escape from her own loneliness. She is a great needlewoman and frequently takes her embroidery round to Donna Livia's house, to work upon it there in the afternoons."

Roger regarded his fat landlord with a new interest, and said: "You will, I trust, forgive me, Signor Pisani, if I remark that for an ordinary citizen you seem peculiarly well acquainted with the secrets of the Court."

The Tuscan laughed again. "That is easily explained, Monsieur. It so happens that I have long enjoyed the friendship of Herr von Streinefberg, who is His Highness's confidential secretary."

"I wonder, then," said Roger with appropriate diffidence, "if I might trespass on your good nature to arrange for me to meet Herr von Streinefberg ? I have some business to transact while in Florence, in which I am certain his good offices could be of great assistance to me."

"I would do so willingly, were it possible; but unfortunately my friend left here for Vienna only a few days since on urgent business connected with the Emperor Joseph's illness."

"With whom then would you suggest my getting in touch with the object of securing His Highness's interest in my affairs?"

Signor Pisani considered for a moment, then he said: "Monsignor Scipione Ricci enjoys his dubious confidence more than any other man. He has apartments in the Pitti, so I suggest that you should go there and secure an interview with him through one of his secretaries; or, better still, his major-domo, Signor Zucchino. The latter is not a particularly pleasant person, but he has his master's ear, and will, I am sure, pass you in if you grease his palm with a couple of sequins."

Roger thanked his new friend and, as the bottle was now empty, bade him good night; then went upstairs, well pleased with the informa­tion he had gained at so little cost, to spend an hour with Isabella before going to bed.

The following morning by nine o'clock he was at the Pitti Palace, enquiring for Signor Zucchino. At first he had some difficulty in making himself understood, as he spoke no Italian, and French proving useless, he had to do his best with Latin and the smattering of Spanish he had picked up from Isabella. But at length he was conducted through a maze of lofty corridors to a little room equipped as an office, where, behind a desk littered with bills, a small man clad in black velvet was sitting.

Having bowed to him Roger opened the conversation in French, and, to his relief, found that the major-domo spoke sufficient of that language to understand him. He gave his name as Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc, and said that he had just arrived from the Court of France upon business which he wished to discuss with Monsignor Ricci.

Signor Zucchino's sharp black eyes appraised Roger quickly, then he enquired the nature of die business.

On Roger declaring that it was a strictly confidential matter, the major-domo showed signs of hauteur; but when his visitor gently clinked the gold in his breeches pocket and, producing two pieces, slid them under a paper on the corner of the desk, his manner changed at once.

In halting French he said that his master was, unfortunately, absent in Pisa, but would be back in Florence the following day, and he would do his best to arrange an audience.

Roger then handed him a slip of paper on which he had already written his name and address; and, on the major-domo promising to communicate with him, took his leave.

Now that he had a free day before him he was extremely anxious to take advantage of it to see the most outstanding of the many art treasures in Florence, so immediately he got back to his lodgings he consulted with Isabella on this project. As they occupied separate rooms, and her servants now referred to her as Madame Jules, no one there had sugges­ted by as much as the lift of an eyebrow that she was not his sister-in-law; and they decided that there could be no risk of her identity being discovered if she went out, provided she wore a mask.

By half-past ten Hernando had secured a carozza for them, and, leaving Quetzal in his care, they set off like a young honeymoon couple to see the sights of the city. First they paid tribute to the Venus de Medici, as the Venus de Milo was then called, and they agreed that no copies that either of them had ever seen did justice to the supreme beauty of Cleomenes' original. Then they devoted most of the rest of the day to the magnificent collection of pictures in the Grand Duke's residence, the Pitti Palace, which was always open to the public.

Roger had long been interested in paintings, but the Raphaels, Titians, Rubenses and Correggios aroused his enthusiasm for the art to a degree that it had never previously reached, and he declared that afternoon that when they had a home of their own they must certainly start a collection, however modest its beginnings might have to be.

It was this which made Isabella insist on stopping at an art dealer's on their way back to Pisani's, in order to buy him a picture as the foundation of his new hobby. By great good fortune they found a small head and shoulders of Saint Lucia, which was Isabella's second name. It was a beautiful little thing of about nine inches by six; the Saint was wearing a robe of brilliant blue, and behind her head there was portrayed a fairy-like scene of woods and a mountain with a tiny castle perched on top. The dealer swore that it was an original Andrea del Sarto, and wanted a hundred and twenty gold sequins for it. Roger demurred at such extravagance, and when Isabella overruled his protests, he would at least have attempted to beat the man down; but she said she would not sully her gift by haggling about its price, and told the dealer to carry it to their lodging, where she would pay him what he asked.

On their second day in Florence they went out again early in the morning to see the famous sculpture of Niobe striving to protect her children from the murderous shafts of Apollo; and still more pictures. But at eleven o'clock they tore themselves away from a gallery contain­ing some of the finest examples of Benvenuto Cellini's gem-encrusted goldsmith's work, and hurried back to Pisani's, in case a message had arrived for Roger giving him an appointment with Monsignor Ricci.

However, no word had yet come from Signor Zucchino, and to Roger's intense annoyance he had to waste the whole afternoon kicking his heels in their lodgings without hearing from the major-domo. It was not until he and Isabella were sitting down to supper that a messenger at last arrived, bearing a brief note which said:

Monsignor Ricci has been much engaged on affairs of State since his return at midday; but he will grant you a few minutes if you attend upon him at half-past eleven tonight.

The script was in Italian but Isabella understood enough of that language to translate it, and Roger sighed with relief when he learned its purport. After they had supped they ordered another bottle of wine, and sat up making fond plans for the future over it until it was time for him to set out for the palace. Then, having kissed Isabella good night half a dozen times, he buckled on his sword, drew his cloak about him, and went out into the darkened streets of the ancient city.

A faint moonlight now lit the stone facades of the great mansions, making them even more impressive, and as Roger walked briskly along the narrow, cobbled streets he marvelled once again that so small a country, with a bare million inhabitants, should have proved capable of producing such lasting memorials to the' greatness of its rulers; when the Kings of France, with twenty times their resources, had failed to achieve one-tenth of the grandeur of the Medicis.

As he crossed the bridge over the Arno he was thinking of Isabella, and the picture of her patron saint that she had bought him that morning. The thought occurred to him that at a not too distant date they must return to Florence for a delayed honeymoon. She seemed to derive as much pleasure from its unique treasures as himself, and in no country except his own had he found such congenial surroundings. Even if the people grumbled about the innovations introduced by their Austrian Grand Duke, they seemed remarkably carefree. There were no midnight beggars in the streets, or outcasts trying to snatch a few hours' uneasy slumber in the shadow of the doorways. The city now slept, its citizens serene, untroubled, secure within their homes. On the far side of the river he entered the street leading to the palace.

Suddenly a group of dark, swiftly moving figures emerged from the shadows. Roger glimpsed a patient mule being held by one as the others rushed upon him. Springing back he grasped his sword-hilt. His shout was drowned in the scamper of running feet. He had drawn his weapon no more than six inches from its scabbard before his arm was caught in a fierce grip. Next second he was overborne and hurled headlong into the gutter.

CHAPTER TEN

THE HOODED MEN

As Roger went down he kicked out hard. His right foot caught one of his attackers in the crutch, drawing from him a screech of pain. But at least three men had charged in simultaneously and two of them fell right on top of him. Clenching his first he smashed it into the face of one and, with a heave of his body, threw off the other.

Since the age of eighteen he had been just over six feet in height, but in the past three years he had filled out; so although his slender-boned hips still gave him a fine figure he was now a fully grown man with a broad chest and powerful shoulders. As he never lost an opportunity to practise fencing and often spent many hours a day in the saddle he had no superfluous fat and his muscles were as hard as whipcord. Moreover he had a cool head, great agility and, in a fight such as this, was never handicapped by the least scruples about using unorthodox methods to get the better of his enemies. So, had he not been taken completely by surprise, three or four underfed street roughs would have found that in attacking him they had caught a Tartar.

Even as it was, he had succeeded in inflicting grievous injury on two of them in as many seconds, and as he rolled over to get clear of the squirming body he had just thrown off he kicked out again backwards. His heel met solid flesh and elicited a spate of curses.

Thrusting one hand against the cobbles he gave a violent twist of his body and scrambled to his knees. To his dismay he realized that his attackers numbered five at least. Only one lay hors de combat, groaning in the middle of the narrow street. The two others who had knocked him down were staggering to their feet on either side of him; a fourth, who had been holding the mule, was running to their assistance, and the scraping of boots on stone behind him gave warning that one or more of the band were about to take him from the rear.

Once more his right hand grasped his sword hilt. If only he had time to draw it and get his back against the wall, he felt that he might yet succeed in beating off the gang of bravos until the sounds of the conflict brought the Watch to his assistance.

But in a moment his hopes were shattered. A man behind him threw a cloak over his head. Another seized his arms and wrenched them pain­fully together till his elbows met in the small of his back. Instantly a dozen hands were grasping him. Someone tied the cloak round his neck, so that his head was encased in a stuffy bag, and his shouts for help were muffled. His arms were tied together with a piece of cord. Still he kicked out, but he was borne to the ground, and while one man sat upon his legs another secured his ankles. Then he was rolled over and over sideways upon other cloaks that had been spread out on the ground, till he was encased like a mummy in a roll of carpet.

Next, he felt himself lifted up, carried a few yards and dumped face down across the back of the mule, with his head dangling on one side of the animal and his feet on the other. The cursing, panting and excited exclamations of his captors had now ceased, and in silence the party sent off along the street.

The blood was running to Roger's head, and in addition he found it extremely difficult to breathe, so for him to think at all was by no means easy. But as he gasped for air in the stifling folds of the cloak, various half-formed thoughts came to him. He had been set upon by robbers! Yet they had made no. attempt to take his jewels or money from him. If they were not robbers what possible motive could they have for attacking him ? Perhaps they had mistaken him for someone else ? Where was he being taken? Perhaps they were robbers and meant to hold him to ransom? Anyhow it seemed clear that they intended him no bodily harm, as not one of them had drawn a sword or stiletto during the struggle. He had sustained no injury, at all. That at least was much to be thankful for.

At this point lack of air made him feel as though his head was going to burst, and with the steady jolting of the mule alone still impinging on his mind he lapsed into semi-unconsciousness.

When he came to someone was pouring Grappa down his throat. The fiery spirit jerked him back into full possession of his senses. He had been unwrapped and untied and was seated in a chair with his head lolling back, staring up at a low, vaulted ceiling of plain stone with Roman arches.

With a gasp he thrust aside the glass that was being held to his mouth and sat up. Two rough-looking fellows with close-cropped hair, who were dressed in leather jerkins and looked like men-at-arms, stepped away from him, and he saw at once that this stone-flagged cellar was no brigands' den. Yet, immediately opposite him, on the far side of a long table, was a sight calculated to make the boldest heart contract in swift alarm.

Beyond it sat nine silent figures. All were clad in loose black robes that entirely hid their ordinary clothes and individualities. From their shoulders the robes merged into high-pointed hoods, having in them only mouth and eye slits.

Roger's first thought was that he had fallen into the hands of the Inquisition; but he was quick to recall that in a further conversation with Signor Pisani the previous day his landlord had told him that the Grand Duke had deprived the Holy Office of much of its powers in Tuscany, and that it was now only permitted to act as an ecclesiastical court for the trial of priests who had disgraced their calling. It then occurred to him that the Grand Duke's measure had driven the Inquisi­tion underground and that it still continued to function in secret. But, if so, what possible business could it have with him? Again, he could only suppose that he had been seized in mistake for someone else.

Swiftly, he was disabused of that idea. In the centre of the line of figures one whom Roger took to be the Grand Inquisitor, because he was seated on a larger and slightly higher chair than the others, had already signed to the two men-at-arms to withdraw. As a heavy, nail-studded door closed behind them, he addressed Roger in good but stilted French.