n beautiful Paris, now rendered hideous by the constant flow of
the blood of her noblest sons, by the wailing of the widows, and the
cries of fatherless children.

The men all wore red caps--in various stages of cleanliness--but all
with the tricolor cockade pinned on the left-side. Marguerite noticed
with a shudder that, instead of the laughing, merry countenance habitual
to her own countrymen, their faces now invariably wore a look of sly
distrust.

Every man nowadays was a spy upon his fellows: the most innocent
word uttered in jest might at any time be brought up as a proof of
aristocratic tendencies, or of treachery against the people. Even the
women went about with a curious look of fear and of hate lurking in
their brown eyes; and all watched Marguerite as she stepped on shore,
followed by Sir Andrew, and murmured as she passed along: "SACRES
ARISTOS!" or else "SACRES ANGLAIS!"

Otherwise their presence excited no further comment. Calais, even in
those days, was in constant business communication with England, and
English merchants were often seen on this coast. It was well known that
in view of the heavy duties in England, a vast deal of French wines
and brandies were smuggled across. This pleased the French BOURGEOIS
immensely; he liked to see the English Government and the English king,
both of whom he hated, cheated out of their revenues; and an English
smuggler was always a welcome guest at the tumble-down taverns of Calais
and Boulogne.

So, perhaps, as Sir Andrew gradually directed Marguerite through the
tortuous streets of Calais, many of the population, who turned with an
oath to look at the strangers clad in English fashion, thought that
they were bent on purchasing dutiable articles for their own fog-ridden
country, and gave them no more than a passing thought.

Marguerite, however, wondered how her husband's tall, massive figure
could have passed through Calais unobserved: she marvelled what disguise
he assumed to do his noble work, without exciting too much attention.

Without exchanging more than a few words, Sir Andrew was leading her
right across the town, to the other side from that where they had
landed, and the way towards Cap Gris Nez. The streets were narrow,
tortuous, and mostly evil-smelling, with a mixture of stale fish and
damp cellar odours. There had been heavy rain here during the storm
last night, and sometimes Marguerite sank ankle-deep in the mud, for the
roads were not light