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D'RI AND I
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not be wise. We must wait. We do not know where they are. I have friends in Canada; they are doing their best, and when we hear from them—eh bien, we shall know what is necessary."
I told him how I had met them that night in Canada, and what came of it.
"They are a cruel people, the English," said he. "I am afraid to find them will be a matter of great difficulty."
"But the letter—"
"Ah, the letter," he interrupted, feeling in his pocket. "The letter is not much. It is from Tiptoes—from Louison. It was mailed this side of the river at Morristown. You shall see; they do not know where they are."
He handed me the letter. I read it with an eagerness I could not conceal. It went as follows:—
"My dear Count: If this letter reaches you, it will, I hope, relieve your anxiety. We are alive and well, but where? I am sure I have no better idea than if I were a baby just born. We came here with our eyes covered after a long ride from the river, which we crossed in the
