an."

"Nay," said Wogan; "you exaggerate her danger. Once the escape is
brought to an issue, once her Highness is in Bologna safe, the Emperor
cannot wreak vengeance on a woman; it would be too paltry." And now he
made his appeal to Misset.

"No, my friend," Misset replied. "I know no woman with the fortitude."

"But you do," interrupted O'Toole. "So do I. There's no difficulty
whatever in the matter. Mrs. Misset has a maid."

"Oho!" said Gaydon.

"The maid's name is Jenny."

"Aha!" said Wogan.

"She's a very good friend of mine."

"O'Toole!" cried Misset, indignantly. "My wife's maid--a very good
friend of yours?"

"Sure she is, and you didn't know it," said O'Toole, with a chuckle. "I
am the cunning man, after all. She would do a great deal for me would
Jenny."

"But has she courage?" asked Wogan.

"Faith, her father was a French grenadier and her mother a _vivandiere_.
It would be a queer thing if she was frightened by a little matter of
lying in bed and pretending to be someone else."

"But can we trust her with the secret?" asked Gaydon.

"No!" exclaimed Misset, and he rose angrily from his chair. "My wife's
maid--O'Toole--O'Toole--my wife's maid. Did ever one hear the like?"

"My friend," said O'Toole, quietly, "it seems almost as if you wished to
reflect upon Jenny's character, which would not be right."

Misset looked angrily at O'Toole, who was not at all disturbed. Then he
said, "Well, at all events, she gossips. We cannot take her. She would
tell the whole truth of our journey at the first halt."

"That's true," said O'Toole.

Then for the second time that evening he cried, "I have an idea."

"Well?"

"We'll not tell her the truth at all. I doubt if she would come if we
told it her. Jenny very likely has never heard of her Highness the
Princess, and I doubt if she cares a button for the King. Besides, she
would never believe but that we were telling her a lie. No. We'll make
up a probable likely sort of story, and then she'll believe it to be the
truth."

"I have it," cried Wogan. "We'll tell her that we are going to abduct an
heiress who is dying for love of O'Toole, and whose merciless parents
are forcing her into a loveless, despicable marriage with a tottering
pantaloon."

O'Toole brought his hand down upon the arm of the chair.

"There's the very story," he cried. "To be sure, you are a great man,
Charles. The most probable convincing story that was ever invented! Oh!
but yo