ese are strange times. They say,' be continued in
a lower tone, 'that the old queen is dying up there, and will not last
the night.'

I nodded. 'We must go somewhere' I said.

'I would help you if I could,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders.
'But there it is! Blois is full from the tiles to the cellars.'

My horse shivered under me, and mademoiselle, whose patience was gone,
cried harshly to me to do something. 'We cannot spend the night in the
streets,' she said fiercely.

I saw that she was worn out and scarcely mistress of herself. The light
was falling, and with it some rain. The reek of the kennels and the
close air from the houses seemed to stifle us. The bell at the church
behind us was jangling out vespers. A few people, attracted by the
sight of our horses standing before the inn, had gathered round and were
watching us.

Something I saw must be done, and done quickly. In despair, and seeing
no other resort, I broached a proposal of which I had not hitherto
even dreamed. 'Mademoiselle,' I said bluntly, 'I must take you to my
mother's.'

'To your mother's, sir?' she cried, rousing herself. Her voice rang with
haughty surprise.

'Yes,' I replied brusquely; 'since, as you say, we cannot spend the
night in the streets, and I do not know where else I can dispose of you.
From the last advices I had I believe her to have followed the court
hither. My friend,' I continued, turning to the landlord, 'do you know
by name a Madame de Bonne, who should be in Blois?'

'A Madame de Bonne!' he muttered, reflecting. 'I have heard the name
lately. Wait a moment.' Disappearing into the house, he returned almost
immediately, followed by a lanky pale-faced youth wearing a tattered
black soutane. 'Yes,' he said nodding, 'there is a worthy lady of that
name lodging in the next street, I am told. As it happens, this young
man lives in the same house, and will guide you, if you like.'

I assented, and, thanking him for his information, turned my horse and
requested the youth to lead the way. We had scarcely passed the corner
of the street, however, and entered one somewhat more narrow and less
frequented, when mademoiselle, who was riding behind me, stopped and
called to me. I drew rein, and, turning, asked what it was.

'I am not coming,' she said, her voice trembling slightly, but whether
with alarm or anger I could not determine. 'I know nothing of you, and
I--I demand to be taken to M. de Rosny.'

'If you cry that