e soon looked grave enough.

"Yes, child, it was not well; beside, the affair is not yours, and it
is always dangerous to meddle. There, now, don't worry, it does not
matter much after all. Soon we leave here and you will never see any
of them again, I hope. This is no place for lassies fair and young as
you. I hope to take both you and Agnes to a new and purer land."

"Soon we leave?" she repeated, "oh, I forgot; but I don't want to, I
like it here."

"Like it? I thought you hated Sceaux?"

"Yes, I did--but--"

"But, what?"

"But, nothing, I just like it--now," she insisted illogically.

"Who is this young man, Charles?" asked Agnes when her sister had gone.
And he told her.

CHAPTER XVII

THE FLIGHT FROM SCEAUX.

The responsibility brought by the possession of such valuable state
papers oppressed me greatly, to say nothing of the perils which would
beset their custodian if it became Jerome's purpose to reclaim them. I
thought it most prudent and proper under present conditions to see the
dispatches safe in de Serigny's hands--then, at least, I would be
absolved from any blame in the matter. Serigny held me responsible,
and it would perhaps be the part of wisdom to act independently of
Jerome, report fully to Serigny, and if it were then his wish that the
investigation concerning Yvard and Madame du Maine be pressed to
further discoveries, nothing would be easier than to return to Paris
almost before Jerome could miss me. I need tell Serigny nothing of my
suspicion of Jerome; even if true, his animosity would vanish with the
cause which gave it birth.

There was much to acquaint Serigny with, much perchance he knew
already. Paris swarmed with rumors. Every lip was busy with
second-hand gossip coming, as each relator declared, from the most
reliable sources. "My cousin, who is laundress to the Countess de
Lanois, says," and upon this immaculate authority the butcher upon his
morning rounds detailed the most delightful and impossible gossip to
his customers.

"Pierre, my son, the valet, who is in the confidence of the Duke of
Gesvres, heard His Grace say with his own lips"--and so the wine-room
stories flew, gathering strength and falsehood as they went. But the
story of to-day gave the lie to that of yesterday, and no man knew the
truth.

War with Spain filled every mouth, yet none had a why or a wherefore.
The King said "war," and all his nation echoed. No, not all. Many
there wer