"My father?"
"Yes, as his secretary. Arrived in the Vendée, your father will pledge his word to the general to undertake nothing against France. From there he will escape to Brittany, and from Brittany to England. When he arrives in London, he will inform you; I shall obtain a passport for you, and you will join him in London."
"To-morrow," exclaimed Solange; "my father departs to-morrow!"
"There is no time to waste."
"My father has not been informed."
"Inform him."
"To-night?"
"To-night."
"But how, at this hour?"
"You have a pass and my arm."
"True. My pass."
I gave it to her. She thrust it into her bosom.
"Now, your arm."
I gave her my arm, and we walked away. When we arrived at the Place Turenne—that is, the spot where we had met the night before—she said: "Await me here."
I bowed and waited.
She disappeared around the corner of what was formerly the Hôtel Malignon. After a lapse of fifteen minutes she returned.
"Come," she said, "my father wishes to receive and thank you."
She took my arm and led me up to the Rue St. Guillaume, opposite the Hôtel Mortemart. Arrived here, she took a bunch of keys from her pocket, opened a small, concealed door. took me by the hand, conducted me up two flights of steps, and knocked in a peculiar manner.
A man of forty-eight or fifty years opened the door. He was dressed as a working man and appeared to be a book-binder. But at the first utterance that burst from his lips, the evidence of the seigneur was unmistakable.
"Monsieur," he said, "Providence has sent you to us. I regard you an emissary of fate. Is it true that you can save me, or, what is more, that you wish to save me?"
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