fervently.

"He had done that so far, Madame."

"It is wonderful to me, wonderful!--That you should all be so brave, so
devoted to your fellowmen--yet you are English!--and in France treachery
is rife--all in the name of liberty and fraternity."

"The women even, in France, have been more bitter against us aristocrats
than the men," said the Vicomte, with a sigh.

"Ah, yes," added the Comtesse, while a look of haughty disdain and
intense bitterness shot through her melancholy eyes, "There was that
woman, Marguerite St. Just for instance. She denounced the Marquis de
St. Cyr and all his family to the awful tribunal of the Terror."

"Marguerite St. Just?" said Lord Antony, as he shot a quick and
apprehensive glance across at Sir Andrew.

"Marguerite St. Just?--Surely . . ."

"Yes!" replied the Comtesse, "surely you know her. She was a leading
actress of the Comedie Francaise, and she married an Englishman lately.
You must know her--"

"Know her?" said Lord Antony. "Know Lady Blakeney--the most fashionable
woman in London--the wife of the richest man in England? Of course, we
all know Lady Blakeney."

"She was a school-fellow of mine at the convent in Paris," interposed
Suzanne, "and we came over to England together to learn your language.
I was very fond of Marguerite, and I cannot believe that she ever did
anything so wicked."

"It certainly seems incredible," said Sir Andrew. "You say that she
actually denounced the Marquis de St. Cyr? Why should she have done such
a thing? Surely there must be some mistake--"

"No mistake is possible, Monsieur," rejoined the Comtesse, coldly.
"Marguerite St. Just's brother is a noted republican. There was some
talk of a family feud between him and my cousin, the Marquis de St. Cyr.
The St. Justs are quite plebeian, and the republican government employs
many spies. I assure you there is no mistake. . . . You had not heard
this story?"

"Faith, Madame, I did hear some vague rumours of it, but in England no
one would credit it. . . . Sir Percy Blakeney, her husband, is a very
wealthy man, of high social position, the intimate friend of the Prince
of Wales . . . and Lady Blakeney leads both fashion and society in
London."

"That may be, Monsieur, and we shall, of course, lead a very quiet
life in England, but I pray god that while I remain in this beautiful
country, I may never meet Marguerite St. Just."

The proverbial wet-blanket seemed to have fallen over the merry li