imed a second person.

"Pouf! The street is clear enough. Take down the bar, Jules." Then
we heard a sound as of a heavy bar being removed.

The door opened ever so slightly and a woman cried, "Quick, come in,
before you are seen. Where is the poor girl? Cheer up, my little one,
no one shall harm you here. Now, Jules, put up the bar again! Ah!
that is right. This way, monsieur," and she led us all into a tiny
room, poorly furnished, but neat and clean.

She was a comely woman of middle age, rather short, with bright keen
eyes, and pleasant face: her husband, Jules, was a ruddy-cheeked man,
bald on the top of his head, but with a ring of stiff white hair which
stood up like a fence.

"It is really very generous of you to risk so much for strangers," I
began, but the woman would not let me finish.

"One cannot let a child die for want of a helping hand," said she
briskly, "and as for these brigands, I would cut off all their heads at
a blow. Ah, it is easy to see that you do not belong to the
_canaille_."

I have had little experience of the sea, but as we sat in that room I
think we must have felt like sailors who, after a stormy voyage, have
glided into a peaceful harbour.

Both Jules and his wife were very attentive, especially to Marie, who
was getting much calmer; they gave us food and drink, and offered to
hide us in the house as long as we cared to stay.

"It is growing late," said they, "and you cannot go abroad to-night.
To-morrow----"

"The danger will be just as great," interrupted Madame Coutance. "We
thank you for your kind offer, but, believe me, it will be better for
us to depart now. Monsieur has a pass, and once outside the city we
shall be safe."

"And to-morrow," said Marie, "it may be too late. Besides, you may get
into trouble for hiding us, and then I should never forgive myself."

As far as my plans were concerned it was better to start at once, but I
took no part in the discussion one way or the other, though feeling
extremely pleased when Madame Coutance decided that we should sleep
outside Paris.

The kindness of our good Samaritans, and the relief from the tumult,
had done Marie so much good that she was ready to face the danger
again, so, at the end of an hour, we prepared to start. I offered
Jules a sum of money, but neither he nor his wife would take it, and we
could only thank them, and hope they would not suffer for having
afforded us a temporary refuge.