, the robbers? I know destruction
lies that way!'

'Nay, sister, this is not like you. You always were brave, and trusted
heaven, when you had to follow Ulick.'

'Alas! never had I this sinking of heart, which tells me I shall be torn
from my poor children and never rejoin him.'

Sister Ste. Madeleine caressed and prayed with the poor lady, and did her
utmost to reassure and comfort her, promising a _neuvaine_ for her safe
journey and meeting with her husband.

'For the children,' said the poor Countess. 'I know I never shall see
him more.'

However, the cheerfulness of the bright Irish-woman had done her some
good, and she was better by the time she rose to pursue her journey.
Estelle and Ulysse had been much petted by the nuns, and when all met
again, to the great relief of Arthur, he found continuous weeping was not
_de rigueur_. When they got in again, he was able to get rid of his
sword, and only trod on two pair of toes, and got his legs twice tumbled
over.

Moreover, Madame de Bourke had recovered the faculty of making pretty
speeches, and when the weapon was put into the sword case, she observed
with a sad little smile, 'Ah, Monsieur! we look to you as our defender!'

'And me too!' cried little Ulysse, making a violent demonstration with
his tiny blade, and so nearly poking out his uncle's eye that the article
was relegated to the same hiding-place as 'Monsieur Arture's,' and the
boy was assured that this was a proof of his manliness.

He had quite recovered his spirits, and as his mother and sister were
still exhausted with weeping, he was not easy to manage, till Arthur took
heart of grace, and offering him a perch on his knee, let him look out at
the window, explaining the objects on the way, which were all quite new
to the little Parisian boy. Fortunately he spoke French well, with
scarcely any foreign accent, and his answers to the little fellow's eager
questions interspersed with observations on 'What they do in my country,'
not only kept Ulysse occupied, but gained Estelle's attention, though she
was too weary and languid, and perhaps, child as she was, too much bound
by the requirements of sympathy to manifest her interest, otherwise than
by moving near enough to listen.

That evening the party reached the banks of one of the canals which
connected the rivers of France, and which was to convey them to the Loire
and thence to the Rhone, in a huge flat-bottomed barge, called a _coche
d'eau_