loak, smiled up into the face of her
father.

He had parted with Boussac at Bar, leaving him there surrounded by his
comrades of two troops of the Mousquetaires Noirs, from whom he had
received the joyful intelligence that they were soon to move on to
Paris, to be quartered at Versailles, while two other troops of the
"Gris" were to replace them--a piece of news that had given St.
Georges almost as much pleasure as it had done to the other. For it
seemed to him that, should aught take him away from Paris when he had
left the child in the house of the Sieur Blecy in the Rue de
Timoleon, there was one faithful friend on whom he could rely to keep
watch over it and see to its welfare.

"And be sure," said the mousquetaire, "that I will do so. Monsieur St.
Georges, we are friends now in spite of our difference in military
rank; we have fought side by side; if you are not there to guard your
child, I shall be. Meanwhile, prosecute your inquiries as to the rank
and position--ay, and the fortune!--you believe, is yours, and may the
good God put you in the right way! Farewell, monsieur, and Heaven
bless you! You know where I may be communicated with; let me know also
where I may send to you," and he stooped down and kissed the child ere
he grasped the other's hand as he prepared to mount his horse.

"Adieu," St. Georges said, "adieu, friend. You helped me to save her
life once. For that I thank you, am bound to you forever. I pray
Heaven that, if she should need it, you may be by to do so again."
Whereon, with a farewell to his new friend and to several officers and
men who had all testified as much interest in him and his charge as
those others had done at Chatillon, he set forth once more upon
another stage of his journey.

Both at Chatillon and in Bar, which he was now leaving behind, he and
Boussac had spoken to those whose duty it was to keep an eye to the
safety of the highroads, and had informed the captain of the
_marechausse_--or mounted patrol of the highroads--of the attack that
had been made on them. But this official had only shrugged his
shoulders and remarked that "it was possible, very possible."

"Louvois," he said, "is responsible for all. Either he denudes the
country of men to send on his campaigns, so that none are left to
guard it, or, the campaigns being over, he pours back into it
thousands of disbanded soldiers who, for want of aught else to do,
become _filous_ and _spadassins_. What would you? An