But I'll go
and ascertain."

Marguerite ran to the door and with joyful eagerness tore it open.

"Suzanne!" she called "my little Suzanne! I thought you were in London.
Come up quickly! In the boudoir--yes. Oh! what good fortune hath brought
you?"

Suzanne flew into her arms, holding the friend whom she loved so well
close and closer to her heart, trying to hide her face, which was wet
with tears, in the folds of Marguerite's kerchief.

"Come inside, my darling," said Marguerite. "Why, how cold your little
hands are!"

She was on the point of turning back to her boudoir, drawing Lady
Ffoulkes by the hand, when suddenly she caught sight of Sir Andrew, who
stood at a little distance from her, at the top of the stairs.

"Sir Andrew!" she exclaimed with unstinted gladness.

Then she paused. The cry of welcome died on her lips, leaving them dry
and parted. She suddenly felt as if some fearful talons had gripped her
heart and were tearing at it with sharp, long nails; the blood flew from
her cheeks and from her limbs, leaving her with a sense of icy numbness.

She backed into the room, still holding Suzanne's hand, and drawing her
in with her. Sir Andrew followed them, then closed the door behind him.
At last the word escaped Marguerite's parched lips:

"Percy! Something has happened to him! He is dead?"

"No, no!" exclaimed Sir Andrew quickly.

Suzanne put her loving arms round her friend and drew her down into the
chair by the fire. She knelt at her feet on the hearthrug, and pressed
her own burning lips on Marguerite's icy-cold hands. Sir Andrew stood
silently by, a world of loving friendship, of heart-broken sorrow, in
his eyes.

There was silence in the pretty white-panelled room for a while.
Marguerite sat with her eyes closed, bringing the whole armoury of her
will power to bear her up outwardly now.

"Tell me!" she said at last, and her voice was toneless and dull, like
one that came from the depths of a grave--"tell me--exactly--everything.
Don't be afraid. I can bear it. Don't be afraid."

Sir Andrew remained standing, with bowed head and one hand resting on
the table. In a firm, clear voice he told her the events of the past few
days as they were known to him. All that he tried to hide was Armand's
disobedience, which, in his heart, he felt was the primary cause of the
catastrophe. He told of the rescue of the Dauphin from the Temple, the
midnight drive in the coal-cart, the meeting with Hastings a