by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER VIII
Marie Arrested
On leaving Victor in the care of the man who had so providentiallycame to his aid, Harry hurried down the street towards the Abbaye,then he stopped to think--should he return there or make his wayto the Bicetre. He could not tell whether his friends had, likethe Duc de Gisons, been removed to the Abbaye. If they had beenso, it was clearly impossible for him to aid them in any way. Theymight already have fallen. The crowd was too great for him to regainthe gallery, and even there could only witness, without power toavert, their murder. Were they still at the Bicetre he might dosomething. Perhaps the assassins had not yet arrived there.
It was now nine o'clock in the evening. The streets were almostdeserted. The respectable inhabitants all remained within theirhouses, trembling at the horrors, of which reports had circulatedduring the afternoon. At first there had been hopes that the Assemblywould take steps to put a stop to the massacre, but the Assemblydid nothing. Danton and the ministers were absent. The cannon'sroar and the tocsin sounded perpetually. There was no secret as towhat was going on. The Commune had the insolence to send commissionersto the bar of the Assembly to state that the people wished to breakopen the doors of the prisons, and this when two hundred priestshad already been butchered at the Carmelites.
A deputation indeed went to the Abbaye to try to persuade the murderersto desist; but their voices were drowned in the tumultuous cries.The Commune of Paris openly directed the massacre. Billaud-Varenneswent backwards and forwards to superintend the execution of hisorders, and promised the executioners twenty-four francs a day.The receipt for the payment of this blood-money still exists.
On arriving in front of the Bicetre Harry found all was silentthere, and with a faint feeling of hope that the massacre would notextend beyond the Abbaye, he again turned his steps in that direction.
The bloody work was still going on, and Harry wandered away intothe quiet streets to avoid hearing the shrieks of the victims andthe yells of the crowd. A sudden thought struck him, and he wentalong until he saw a woman come out of a house. He ran up to her.
"Madam," he said, "I have the most urgent need of a bonnet andshawl. Will you sell me those you have on? The shops are all shut,or I would not trouble you. You have only to name your price, andI will pay you."
The woman was surprised at this proposition, but seeing that a goodbargain was to be made she asked twice the cost of the articleswhen new, and this Harry paid her without question.
Wrapping the shawl and bonnet into a bundle, he retraced his steps,and sat down on some doorsteps within a distance of the Abbayewhich would enable him to observe any general movement of the crowdin front of the prison. At one o'clock in the morning there was astir, and the body of men with pikes moved down the street.
"They are going to La Force," he said, after following them for somedistance. "Oh, if I had but two or three hundred English soldiershere we would make mincemeat of these murderers!"
Harry did not enter La Force, where the scenes that were takingplace at the Abbaye--for, in spite of the speed with which the mocktrials were hurried through, these massacres were not yet finishedthere, so great was the number of prisoners--were repeated.
At La Force many ladies were imprisoned, among them the Princess deLamballe. They shared the fate of the male prisoners, being hewnto pieces by sabres. The head of the princess was cut off and stuckupon a pike, and was carried in triumph under the windows of theTemple, where the king and queen were confined, and was held up tothe bars of the room they occupied for them to see. Marie Antoinette,fearless for herself, fainted at the terrible sight of the palehead of her friend.
Harry remained at a little distance from La Force, trampingrestlessly up and down, half-mad with rage and horror, and at hispowerlessness to interfere in any way with the proceedings of thewretches who were carrying on the work of murder. At last, abouteight o'clock in the morning, a boy ran by.
"They have finished with them at the Abbaye," he said with fiendishglee. "They are going from there to the Bicetre."
Harry with difficulty repressed his desire to slay the urchin, andhurried away to reach the prison of Bicetre before the band from theAbbaye arrived there. Unfortunately he came down by a side streetupon them when they were within a few hundred yards of the prison.His great hope was that he might succeed in penetrating with theMarseillais and find the marquise, and aid her in making her waythrough the mob in the disguise he had purchased.
But here, as at the other prisons, there was a method in the workof murder. The agents of the Commune took possession of the hallat the entrance and permitted none to pass farther into the prison,the warders and officials bringing down the prisoners in batches,and so handing them over for slaughter. In vain Harry tried topenetrate into the inner part of the prison. He was roughly repulsedby the men guarding the door; and at last, finding that nothingcould be done, he forced his way out again into the open air, andhurrying away for some distance, threw himself on the ground andburst into a passion of tears.
After a time he rose and made his way back to the house where hehad left Victor de Gisons. He found him in a state of delirium,acting over and over again the scene in the Abbaye, cursing thejudge and executioners, and crying out he would die with his father.
"What does the doctor think of him?" he asked the woman who wassitting by Victor's bed.
"He did not say much," the woman replied. "He shook his head, andsaid there had been a terrible mental shock, and that he could notanswer either for his life or reason. There was nothing to do butto be patient, to keep his head bandaged with wet cloths, and togive him water from time to time. Do not be afraid, sir; we willwatch over him carefully."
"I would stay here if I could," Harry said; "but I have othersI must see about. I have the terrible news to break to some youngladies of the murder of their father and mother."
"Poor things! Poor things!" the woman said, shaking her head. "Itis terrible! My husband was telling me what he saw; and a neighbourcame in just now and said it was the same thing at all the otherprisons. The priest, too--our priest at the little church at thecorner of the street, where I used to go in every morning to prayon my way to market--he was dragged away ten days ago to theCarmelites, and now he is a saint in heaven. How is it, sir, thatGod allows such things to be?"
"We cannot tell," Harry said sadly. "As for myself, I can hardlybelieve it, though I saw it. They say there are over four thousandpeople in the prisons, and they will all be murdered. Such a thingwas never heard of. I can hardly believe that I am not in a dreamnow."
"You look almost like one dead yourself," the woman said pityingly."I have made a bouillon for Jacques' breakfast and mine. It isjust ready. Do take a mouthful before you go out. That and a pieceof bread and a cup of red wine will do you good."
Harry was on the point of refusing; but he felt that he was utterlyworn and exhausted, and that he must keep up his strength. Herhusband, therefore, took her place by Victor's bedside in readinessto hold him down should he try to get up in his ravings, whilethe good woman ladled out a basin of the broth and placed it witha piece of bread and some wine on the table. Harry forced himselfto drink it, and when he rose from the table he already felt thebenefit of the meal.
"Thank you very much," he said. "I feel stronger now; but how Iam to tell the story I do not know. But I must make quite certainbefore I go to these poor girls that their parents were killed.Three or four were spared at the Abbaye. Possibly it may have beenthe same thing at the Bicetre."
So Harry went back and waited outside the prison until the bloodywork was over; but found on questioning those who came out whenall was done that the thirst for blood had increased with killing,and that all the prisoners found in the Bicetre had been put todeath.
"Ma foi!" the man whom he was speaking to said; "but these accursedaristocrats have courage. Men and women were alike; there was notone of them but faced the judges bravely and went to their deathas calmly as if to dinner. There was a marquis
and his wife--theMarquis de St. Caux they called him. They brought them out together.They were asked whether they had anything to say why they shouldnot be punished for their crimes against France. The marquis laughedaloud.
"'Crimes!' he said. 'Do you think a Marquis de St. Caux is goingto plead for his life to a band of murderers and assassins? Come,my love.'
"He just gave her one kiss, and then took her hand as if they weregoing to walk a minuet together, and then led her down between thelines of guards with his head erect and a smile of scorn on hisface. She did not smile, but her step never faltered. I watchedher closely. She was very pale, and she did not look proud, butshe walked as calmly and steadily as her husband till they reachedthe door where the pikemen were awaiting them, and then it wasover in a minute, and they died without a cry or a groan. They arewretches, the aristocrats. They have fattened on the life-blood ofthe people; but they know how to die, these people."
Without a word Harry turned away. He had told himself there was nohope; but he knew by the bitter pang he felt now that he had hopedto the last. Then he walked slowly away to tell the news.
There were comparatively few people about the streets, and theseall of the lower order. Every shop was closed. Men with scared facesstood at some of the doors to gather the news from passers-by, andpale women looked timidly from the upper windows. When he reachedthe house he could not summon courage to enter it, but stood for along time outside, until at last he saw Louise Moulin put her headfrom the window. He succeeded in catching her eye, and placing hisfinger on his lips signed to her to come down. A minute later sheappeared at the door.
"Is it all true, Monsieur Sandwith? They say they are murderingthe prisoners. Surely it must be false! They could never do sucha thing!"
"It is true, Louise. I have seen it myself. I went with a disguiseto try and rescue our dear lady, even if I could not save themarquis; but I could not get to her--the wretches have murderedthem both."
"Oh, my dear lady!" the old woman cried, bursting into tears. "Thepretty babe I nursed. To think of her murdered; and the poor youngthings upstairs--what shall I do!--what shall I do, MonsieurSandwith!"
"You must break it to them, Louise. Do they know how great thedanger is?"
"No. I have kept it from them. They can see from the window thatsomething unusual is going on; everyone can see that. But I toldthem it was only that the Prussians were advancing. They areanxious--very anxious--but they are quite unprepared for this."
"Break it gradually, Louise. Tell them first that there are rumoursthat the prisons have been attacked. Come down again presently asif to get more news, and then tell them that there are reports thatthe prisoners have been massacred, and then at last tell them allthe truth."
"But will you not come up, Monsieur Sandwith--they trust you somuch? Your presence will be a support to them."
"I could do nothing now," Harry said sadly. "God only can consolethem. They had best be by themselves for awhile. I will come in thisevening. The first burst of grief will be over then, and my talkmay aid them to rouse themselves. Oh, if we had but tried to getthem out of prison sooner. And yet who could have foreseen that herein Paris thousands of innocent prisoners, men and women, would bemurdered in cold blood!"
Finding that she could not persuade Harry to enter, Louise turnedto perform her painful duty; while Harry, thoroughly exhausted withthe night of horrors, made his way home, and throwing himself onthe bed, fell asleep, and did not wake until evening. His first stepwas to plunge his head into water, and then, after a good wash, toprepare a meal. His sleep had restored his energy, and with brisksteps he made his way through the streets to Louise Moulin. Heknocked with his knuckles at the outer door of her apartments. Theold nurse opened it quietly.
"Come in," she said, "and sit down. They are in their room, andI think they have cried themselves to sleep. My heart has beenbreaking all day to see them. It has been dreadful. Poor littleVirginie cried terribly, and sobbed for hours; but it was a longtime before the others cried. Marie fainted, and when I got herround lay still and quiet without speaking. Jeanne was worst ofall. She sat on that chair with her eyes staring open and her faceas white as if she were dead. She did not seem to hear anything Isaid; but at last, when Virginie's sobs were stopping, I began totalk to her about her mother and her pretty ways when she was achild, and then at last Jeanne broke down, and she cried so wildlythat I was frightened, and then Marie cried too; and after a whileI persuaded them all to lie down; and as I have not heard a soundfor the last hour I hope the good God has sent them all to sleep."
"I trust so indeed, Louise. I will stay here quietly for an hour,and then if we hear nothing I will go home, and be back again inthe morning. Sleep will do more for them than anything I can say."
At the end of an hour all was still quiet, and Harry with a somewhatlightened heart took his departure.
At nine o'clock next morning he was again at the house. When heentered Virginie ran to him, and throwing her arms round his neckagain burst into a passion of tears. Harry felt that this was thebest thing that could have happened, for the others were occupiedfor some time in trying to soothe her, crying quietly to themselveswhile they did so. At last her sobs became less violent.
"And now, Harry," Marie said, turning to him, "will you tell usall about it?"
"I will tell you only that your dear father and mother died, asyou might be sure they would, calmly and fearlessly, and that theysuffered but little. More than that I cannot tell you now. Some dayfarther on, when you can bear it, I will tell you of the events ofthe last forty-eight hours. At present I myself dare not think ofit, and it would harm you to know it.
"Do not, I pray you, ask me any questions now. We must think ofthe future. Fortunately you passed unsuspected the last time theysearched the house; but it may not be so another time. You may besure that these human tigers will not be satisfied with the bloodthey have shed, but that they will long for fresh victims. Theprisons are empty now, but they will soon be filled again. We musttherefore turn our thoughts to your making your escape from thecity. I fear that there is peril everywhere; but it must be faced.I think it will be useless for us to try and reach the frontierby land. At every town and village they will be on the look-outfor fugitives, and whatever disguise you might adopt you could notescape observation. I think, then, that we must make for the seaand hire a fishing-boat to take us across to England.
"But we must not hurry. In the first place, we must settle allour plans carefully and prepare our disguises; in the next place,there will be such tremendous excitement when the news of what hashappened here is known that it would be unsafe to travel. I thinkmyself it will be best to wait a little until there is a lull. Thatis what I want you to think over and decide.
"I do not think there is any very great danger here for the nextfew days. For a little time they will be tired of slaying; and,from what I hear, the Girondists are marked out as the next victims.They say Danton has denounced them at the Jacobin Club. At anyrate it will be better to get everything in readiness for flight,so that we can leave at once if we hear of any fresh measures fora search after suspects."
Harry was pleased to find that his suggestion answered the purposefor which he made it. The girls began to discuss the disguiseswhich would be required and the best route to be taken, and theirthoughts were for a time turned from the loss they had sustained.After an hour's talk he left them greatly benefited by his visit.
For the next few days Harry spent his time for the most part bythe bedside of Victor de Gisons. The fever was still at its height,and the doctor gave but small hopes of his recovery. Harry determinedthat he would not leave Paris until the issue was decided one wayor the other, and when with the girls he discouraged any idea ofan immediate flight. This was the more easy, for the news from theprovinces showed that the situation was everywhere as bad as itwas at the capital.
The Commune had sent to all the committees acting in connection withthem in the towns throughout the country the news of the
executionof the enemies of France confined in the prisons, and had urgedthat a similar step should at once be taken with reference to allthe prisoners in their hands. The order was promptly obeyed, andthroughout France massacres similar to those in Paris were at oncecarried out. A carnival of murder and horror had commenced, and themadness for blood raged throughout the whole country. Such beingthe case, Harry found it by no means difficult to dissuade thegirls from taking instant steps towards making their escape.
He was, however, in a state of great uneasiness. Many of the moderatedeputies had been seized, others had sought safety in flight, andthe search for suspected persons was carried on vigorously. Difficultand dangerous as it would be to endeavour to travel through Francewith three girls, he would have attempted it without hesitationrather than remain in Paris had it not been for Victor de Gisons.
One day a week after the massacres at the prisons he receivedanother terrible shock. He had bought a paper from one of the menshouting them for sale in the street, and sat down in the garden ofthe Tuileries to read it. A great portion of the space was filledwith lists of the enemies of the people who had been, as it wascalled, executed. As these lists had formed the staple of news forseveral days Harry scarce glanced at the names, his eye travellingrapidly down the list until he gave a start and a low cry. Underthe heading of persons executed at Lille were the names of Ernestde St. Caux, Jules de St. Caux, Pierre du Tillet--"aristocratsarrested, August 15th, in the act of endeavouring to leaveFrance in disguise."
For some time Harry sat as if stunned. He had scarce given a thoughtto his friends since that night they had left, the affairs of themarquis and his wife, of their daughters, and of Victor de Gisons,almost excluding everything else. When he thought of the boys ithad been as already in England, under the charge of du Tillet.
He had thought, that if they had been arrested on the way heshould have been sure to hear of it; and he had such confidence inthe sagacity of Monsieur du Tillet that he had looked upon it asalmost certain he would be able to lead his two charges throughany difficulty and danger which might beset them. And now he knewthat his hopes had been ill founded--that his friends had beenarrested when almost within sight of the frontier, and had beenmurdered as soon as the news of the massacres in Paris had reachedLille.
He felt crushed with the blow. A warm affection had sprung up betweenhim and Ernest, while from the first the younger boy had attachedhimself to him; and now they were dead, and the girls were alonein the world, save for himself and the poor young fellow tossingwith fever! It was true that if his friends had reached Englandin safety they could not have aided him in the task he had beforehim of getting the girls away; still their deaths somehow seemedto add to his responsibilities.
Upon one thing he determined at once, and that was, that until hischarges were safely in England they should not hear a whisper ofthis new and terrible misfortune which had befallen them.
In order to afford the girls some slight change, and anxious at theirpale faces, the result of grief and of their unwonted confinement,Louise Moulin had persuaded them to go out with her in the earlymornings when she went to the markets. The fear of detection wassmall, for the girls had now become accustomed to their thick shoesand rough dress; and indeed she thought that it would be safer togo out, for the suspicions of her neighbours might be excited ifthe girls remained secluded in the house. Harry generally met themsoon after they started, and accompanied them in their walk.
One morning he was walking with the two younger girls, while Marieand the old nurse were together a short distance in front of them.They had just reached the flower-market, which was generally themain object of their walks--for the girls, having passed mostof their time in the country, were passionately fond of flowers--whena man on horseback wearing a red sash, which showed him to bean official of the republic, came along at a foot-pace. His eyesfell upon Marie's face and rested there, at first with the look ofrecognition, followed by a start of surprise and satisfaction. Hereined in his horse instantly, with the exclamation:
"Mademoiselle de St. Caux!"
For a moment she shrank back, her cheek paler even than before;then recovering herself she said calmly:
"It is myself, Monsieur Lebat."
"Citizen Lebat," he corrected. "You forget, there are no titlesnow--we have changed all that. It goes to my heart," he went on witha sneer, "to be obliged to do my duty; but however unpleasant itis, it must be done. Citizens," he said, raising his voice, "I wanttwo men well disposed to the state."
As to be ill disposed meant danger if not death, several men withinhearing at once came forward.
"This female citizen is an aristocrat in disguise," he went on,pointing to Marie; "in virtue of my office as deputy of Dijon andmember of the Committee of Public Safety, I arrest her and giveher into your charge. Where is the person who was with her? Seizeher also on a charge of harbouring an enemy of the state!"
But Louise was gone. The moment Lebat had looked round in searchof assistance Marie had whispered in Louise's ear: "Fly, Louise,for the sake of the children; if you are arrested they are lost!"
Had she herself been alone concerned, the old woman would have stoodby Marie and shared her fate; but the words "for the sake of thechildren" decided her, and she had instantly slipped away amongthe crowd, whose attention had been called by Lebat's first words,and dived into a small shop, where she at once began to bargainfor some eggs.
"Where is the woman?" Lebat repeated angrily.
"What is she like?" one of the bystanders asked.
But Lebat could give no description whatever of her. He had noticedthat Marie was speaking to some one when he first caught sight ofher face; but he had noticed nothing more, and did not know whetherthe woman was young or old.
"I can't tell you," he said in a tone of vexation. "Never mind; weshall find her later on. This capture is the most important."
So saying he set out, with Marie walking beside him, with a guardon either hand. In the next street he came on a party of four ofthe armed soldiers of the Commune, and ordered them to take theplace of those he had first charged with the duty, and directedthem to proceed with him to the Maine.
Marie was taken at once before the committee sitting en permanencefor the discovery and arrest of suspects.
"I charge this young woman with being an aristocrat in disguise.She is the daughter of the ci-devant Marquis de St. Caux, who wasexecuted on the 2d of September at Bicetre."
"Murdered, you mean, sir," Marie said in a clear haughty voice."Why not call things by their proper name?"
"I am sorry," Lebat went on, not heeding the interruption, "thatit should fall to my lot to denounce her, for I acknowledge thatin the days before our glorious Revolution commenced I have visitedat her father's chateau. But I feel that my duty to the republicstands before any private considerations."
"You have done perfectly right," the president of the committeesaid. "As I understand that the accused does not deny that sheis the daughter of the ci-devant marquis, I will at once sign theorder for her committal to La Force. There is room there still,though the prisons are filling up again fast."
"We must have another jail delivery," one of the committee laughedbrutally; and a murmur of assent passed through the chamber.
The order was made out, and Marie was handed over to the armedguard, to be taken with the next batch of prisoners to La Force.
Harry was some twenty yards behind Marie and her companion whenLebat checked his horse before her. He recognized the man instantly,and saw that Marie's disguise was discovered. His first impulsewas to rush forward to her assistance, but the hopelessness of anyattempt at interference instantly struck him, and to the surpriseof the two girls, who were looking into a shop, and had not noticedwhat was occurring, he turned suddenly with them down a side street.
"What are you doing, Harry? We shall lose the others in the crowdif we do not keep them in sight," Jeanne said.
"I know what I am doing, Jeanne; I will tell you presently
." He walkedalong several streets until he came to an unfrequented thoroughfare.
"There is something wrong, Harry. I see it in your face!" Jeanneexclaimed. "Tell us at once.
"It is bad news," Harry said quietly. "Try and nerve yourselves,my dear girls, for you will need all your courage. Marie is captured."
"Oh, Harry!" Virginie exclaimed, bursting into tears, while Jeannestood still and motionless.
"Why are you taking us away?" she said in a hard sharp voice whichHarry would not have recognized as hers. "Our place is with her,and where she goes we will go. You have no right to lead us away.We will go back to her at once."
"You can do her no good, Jeanne, dear," Harry said gently. "Youcould not help her, and it would only add to her misery if Virginieand you were also in their hands. Besides, we can be of more useoutside. Trust to me, Jeanne; I will do all in my power to saveher, whatever the risk."
"You could not save our father and mother," Jeanne said with aquivering lip.
"No, dear; but I would have saved them had there been but a littletime to do so. This time I hope to be more successful. Courage,Jeanne! Do not give way; I depend on your clear head to help me.Besides, till we can get her back, you have to fill Marie's placeand look after Virginie."
The appeal was successful, and Jeanne burst into a passion oftears. Harry did not try to check them, and in a short time thesobs ceased and Jeanne raised her head again.
"I feel better now," she said. "Come, Virginie, and dry your eyes,darling; we shall have plenty of time to cry afterwards. Are we togo home, Harry? Have they taken Louise?"
"I do not know, Jeanne; that is the first thing to find out, forif they have, it will not be safe for you to return. Let us push onnow, so that if she has not been taken we shall reach home beforeher. We will place ourselves at the corner of your street and waitfor an hour; she may spend some time in looking for us, but if shedoes not come by the end of that time I shall feel sure that itis because she cannot come, and in that case I must look out foranother place for you."
They hurried on until they were nearly home, the brisk walk having,as Harry had calculated it would do, had the effect of preventingtheir thoughts from dwelling upon Marie's capture. They had notbeen more than a quarter of an hour at their post when Harry gavean exclamation of satisfaction as he saw Louise Moulin approaching.The two girls hurried to meet her.
"Thank God you are both safe, dears!" she exclaimed with tearsstreaming down her cheeks. "I thought of you in the middle of itall; but I was sure that Monsieur Sandwith would see what was beingdone and would get you away."
"And you, Louise," said Harry, who had now come up, "how did youget away? I have been terribly anxious, thinking that they mightseize you too, and that would have been dreadful."
"So they would have done," the old woman said; "but when that evilman looked away for a moment, mademoiselle whispered, 'Fly, Louise,for the children's sake!' and I slipped away into the crowd withouteven stopping to think, and ran into a shop; and it was well I did,for he shouted to them to seize me too, but I was gone, and as Idon't think he noticed me before, they could not find me; and assoon as they had all moved away I came out. I looked for you forsome time, and then made up my mind that Monsieur Sandwith had comeon home with you."
"So I did, you see," Harry said; "but I did not dare to go in untilwe knew whether you had been taken too. If you had not come aftera time we should have looked for another lodging, though I knewwell enough that you would not tell them where you lived."
"No, indeed," the old woman said. "They might have cut me in pieceswithout getting a single word from me as to where I lived. Stillthey might have found out somehow, for they would have been sure tohave published the fact that I had been taken, with a descriptionof me. Then the neighbours would have said, 'This description islike Louise Moulin, and she is missing;' and then they would havetalked, and the end of it would have been you would have beendiscovered. Will you come home with us, Monsieur Sandwith?"
"I will come after it's dark, Louise. The less my visits are noticedthe better."
"This is awful!" Harry said to himself as he turned away. "Themarquis and his wife massacred, Ernest and Jules murdered, Mariein prison, Victor mad with fever, Jeanne and Virginie with no oneto trust to but me, my people at home in a frightful state of mindabout me. It is awful to think of. It's enough to drive a fellowout of his senses. Well, I will go and see how Victor is going on.The doctor thought there was a change yesterday. Poor fellow! Ifhe comes to his senses I shall have hard work to keep the truthabout Marie from him. It would send him off again worse than everif he had an idea of it."
"And how is your patient to-day, madame?" he asked, as Victor'snurse opened the door to him.
"He is quieter, much quieter," she replied. "I think he is too weakto rave any longer; but otherwise he's just the same. He lies withhis eyes open, talking sometimes to himself, but I cannot make outany sense in what he says. The doctor has been here this morning,and he says that he thinks another two days will decide. If he doesnot take a turn then he will die. If he does, he may live, but eventhen he may not get his reason again. Poor young fellow! I feelfor him almost as if he were my son, and so does Jacques."
"You are both very good, madame," Harry said, "and my friend isfortunate indeed to have fallen into such good hands. I will sitwith him for three or four hours now, and you had better go andget a little fresh air."
"That I will, monsieur. Jacques is asleep. He was up with him alllast night, and I had a good night. He would have it so."
"Quite right!" Harry said. "You must not knock yourself up, madame.You are too useful to others for us to let you do that. Tomorrownight I will take my turn."