countenance.
A moment or two concluded the affair, and we were safe.

The lady recovered with surprising spirit, and turning to the
new-comer, cried: "Oh, Gaston! It was horrible beyond words!" and
she clasped his arm with both her shapely hands.

We hurried on without further speech, looking for a hackney-coach;
and when this was found and hailed, the lady turned, and holding
out her hand to me, said: "Sir, forgive the discomposure which
prevented my sooner acknowledgment of your services. What would
have become of me without your aid? I cannot say half what I feel;"
and the lovely creature's eyes filled as she spake.

"My dear young lady," I said, bending over and kissing her hand,
"you could say nothing that would heighten the happiness I have
had in being of service to you;" and in order not to add to her
generous embarrassment I handed her into the coach, whereupon our
common rescuer giving a direction to the man, which I did not
overhear, she and her maid drove off. Then, not to be behind so
fair an original, I turned and complimented the stranger upon his
timely succour.

"Sir," said he, in French, "I perceive, from some sufficient reason,
which I can readily divine, it is convenient for you to appear in
disguise."

"Truly, monsieur," I returned, "I did not hope that a disguise
would protect me from a discerning eye such as yours, but it suffices
for the crowd. I am certain, though, that I confide in a gentleman
when I say I am Hugh Maxwell of Kirkconnel, late captain in Berwick's
Foot, and am entitled to qualify myself as Chevalier."

"And I, Chevalier," he replied, with equal frankness, "am the
Vicomte Gaston de Trincardel, at present on a diplomatic mission
towards the Court."

Being equally satisfied with each other's condition, we repaired
to his lodgings in St. James's Street, where we fell into familiar
conversation, in the course of which the Vicomte said,

"I suppose I am correct in my belief that you have been engaged in
the affair of Charles Edward?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Is there any reliable intelligence of his whereabouts?"

"To be absolutely frank with you, my dear Vicomte, it is a matter
of the most perfect indifference to me where he is, or what becomes
of him."

"Heavens!" he exclaimed. "I cannot understand such a feeling."

"Had you seen as much of him as I did, even when he was trying to
appear at his best as Fitzjames; had you been a daily spectator of
the inconceivable