y were lovers
surely--gin kisses and clasped arms mak lovers! She wad come by
herself to their trysting, and he wad come over the muir and down the
crag-side. It was na my business and I never thocht to tell. But eh!
all ill will out, says my mither!"

CHAPTER XVIII

The early sunlight fell soft and fine upon the river Seine and the
quays and buildings of Paris. The movement and buzz of people had, in
the brightness, something of the small ecstasy of bees emerging from
the hive with the winter pall just slipped. Distant bells were
ringing, hope enticed the grimmest poverty. Much, after all, might be
taken good-naturedly!

A great, ornate coach, belonging to a person of quality, crossed the
Seine from the south to the north bank. Three gentlemen, seated
within, observed each in his own fashion the soft, shining day. One
was Scots, one was English, and the owner of the coach, a Frenchman.
The first was Ian Rullock.

"Good weather for your crossing, monsieur!" remarked the person of
quality. He was so markedly of position that the two men whom he had
graciously offered to bring a mile upon their way, and who also were
younger men, answered with deference and followed in their speech only
the lines indicated.

"It promises fair, sir," said Ian. "In three days Dunkirk, then smooth
seas! Good omens everywhere!"

"You do not voyage under your own name?"

"After to-morrow, sir, I am Robert Bonshaw, a Scots physician."

"Ah, well, good fortune to you, and to the exalted person you serve!"

The coach, cumbrous and stately, drawn by four white horses, left the
bridge and came under old palace walls, and thence by narrow streets
advanced toward the great house of its owner. Outside was the numerous
throng, the scattering to this side and that of the imperiled foot
travelers. The coach stopped.

"Here is the street you would reach!" said the helpful person of
quality.

A footman held open the door; the Scot and the Englishman gave proper
expression of gratitude to their benefactor, descended to earth,
turned again to bow low, and waited bareheaded till the great machine
was once more in motion and monseigneur's wig, countenance, and velvet
coat grew things of the past. Then the two turned into a still and
narrow street overhung by high, ancient structures and roofed with
April sky.

The one was going from Paris, the other staying. Both were links in a
long chain of political conspiring. They walked now down