the news of the massacres in Paris had reached
Lille.

He felt crushed with the blow. A warm affection had sprung up between
him and Ernest, while from the first the younger boy had attached
himself to him; and now they were dead, and the girls were alone
in the world, save for himself and the poor young fellow tossing
with fever! It was true that if his friends had reached England
in safety they could not have aided him in the task he had before
him of getting the girls away; still their deaths somehow seemed
to add to his responsibilities.

Upon one thing he determined at once, and that was, that until his
charges were safely in England they should not hear a whisper of
this new and terrible misfortune which had befallen them.

In order to afford the girls some slight change, and anxious at their
pale faces, the result of grief and of their unwonted confinement,
Louise Moulin had persuaded them to go out with her in the early
mornings when she went to the markets. The fear of detection was
small, for the girls had now become accustomed to their thick shoes
and rough dress; and indeed she thought that it would be safer to
go out, for the suspicions of her neighbours might be excited if
the girls remained secluded in the house. Harry generally met them
soon after they started, and accompanied them in their walk.

One morning he was walking with the two younger girls, while Marie
and the old nurse were together a short distance in front of them.
They had just reached the flower-market, which was generally the
main object of their walks--for the girls, having passed most
of their time in the country, were passionately fond of flowers--when
a man on horseback wearing a red sash, which showed him to be
an official of the republic, came along at a foot-pace. His eyes
fell upon Marie's face and rested there, at first with the look of
recognition, followed by a start of surprise and satisfaction. He
reined 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 titles
now--we have changed all that. It goes to my heart," he went on with
a sneer, "to be obliged to do my duty; but however unpleasant it
is, it must be done. Citizens," he said, raising his voice, "I want
two men well disposed to the state."