ord for so old a friend?" He spoke now in
French--perfect Parisian French.

"I wish you would not address me in public: you know you promised me
that," replied Mrs. Wilders, in a tone of much vexation, tinged with
the respect that is born of fear.

"Forgive me, madam, if I have presumed. But I thought you would wish
to hear the news."

"News! Of what?"

"Another battle, a fierce, terrible fight, in which, thank Heaven! the
English have suffered defeat!" He spoke with an exultation that proved
him to be a traitor, or no Englishman.

"A battle? The English defeated?"

"Yes; thank Heaven, beaten, massacred, disastrously defeated! It is
only the beginning of the end. We shall hear soon of far worse. The
Czar is gathering together all his strength; what can the puny forces
of the allies do against him? They will be outnumbered thousands to
one--annihilated before they can escape to their ships."

"Pshaw! What do I care! Whether they are driven away from the Crimea,
or remain, is much the same to me. But, after all, this is mere talk;
you can't terrify me by such vapourings."

"I tell you I know this for a fact. The Russian forces in the Crimea
have been continually reinforced for weeks past. I know it; I saw
them. I was there, in their midst, not many days ago. Besides, I am
behind the scenes, deep in their counsels. Rely upon it, the allies
are in imminent danger. You will hear soon of another and far greater
fight, after which it will be all over with your friends!"

"Well, well! my friends, as you call them, must look to themselves.
Still, this is mere talk of what may be. Tell me what has actually
occurred. There has been a battle: are many slain? General Wilders--is
he safe?"

"You need have no apprehensions for your dear husband, madam; his
command was not engaged. The chief brunt of the fight fell upon the
cavalry, who were cut to pieces."

"What of young Wilders? Hugo Wilders, I mean--Lord Lydstone's
brother."

"His name is returned amongst the killed. It will be a blow for the
noble house of Essendine, and not the only one."

"What do you mean?"

"The other brother, young Anastasius, whom you are going to see,
cannot survive, I hear."

"Poor young fellows!" said Mrs. Wilders, with a well-assumed show of
feeling.

"You pity them? I honour your sentiments, madam; but, nevertheless,
they can be spared, especially by you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, quickly.

"I mean that after they are go