The landlord was incredulous.

“Voyons, what tale is this you tell me?”

“It is quite true,” sighed Léonie, “and when Monseigneur comes you will see that it is as I say. Oh please, you must help us!”

The landlord was not proof against those big, beseeching eyes.

“Well, well!” he said. “You are safe here, and Hector is discreet.”

“And you won’t let—that man—take us?”

The landlord blew out his cheeks.

“I am master here,” he said. “And I say that you are safe. Hector shall ride to Le Havre for a surgeon, but as for this talk of Ducs!” He shook his head indulgently, and sent a wide-eyed serving maid to fetch Madame, and some linen.

Madame came swiftly, a woman as large about as her husband, but comely withal. Madame cast one glance at Lord Rupert, and issued sharp orders, and began to rend linen. Madame would listen to nobody until she had tightly bound my Lord Rupert.

“Hé, le beau!” she said. “What wickedness! That goes better now.” She laid a plump finger to her lips, and stood billowing, her other hand on her hip. “He must be undressed,” she decided. “Jean, you will find a nightshirt.”

“Marthe,” interposed her husband. “This boy is a lady!”

“Quel horreur!” remarked Madame placidly. “Yes, it is best that we undress him, le pauvre!” She turned, and drove the peeping maid out, and Léonie with her, and shut the door on them.

Léonie wandered down the stairs and went out into the yard. Hector was already gone on his way to Le Havre; there was no one in sight, so Léonie sank wearily on to a bench hard by the kitchen window, and burst into tears.

“Ah, bah!” she apostrophized herself fiercely. “Bęte! Imbécile! Lâche!”

But the tears continued to flow. It was a damp, drooping little figure that met Madame’s eye when she came sailing out into the yard.

Madame, having heard the strange story from her husband, was properly shocked and wrathful. She stood with arms akimbo, and began severely:

“This is a great wickedness, mademoiselle! I would have you know that we——” She broke off, and went forward. “But no, but no, ma petite! There is nothing to cry about. Tais toi, mon chou! All will go well, trust Maman Marthe!” She enfolded Léonie in a large embrace, and in a few minutes a husky voice said, muffled:

“I am not crying!”

Madame shook with fat chuckles.

“I am not!” Léonie sat up. “But oh, I think I am very miserable, and I wish Monseigneur were here, for that man will surely find us, and Rupert is like one dead!”

“It is true then that there is a Duc?” Madame asked.

“Of course it is true!” said Léonie indignantly. “I do not tell lies!”

“An English Duc, alors? Ah, but they are of a wildness, these English! But thou—thou art French, little cabbage!”

“Yes,” said Léonie. “I am so tired I cannot tell you all now.”

“It is I who am a fool!” Madame cried. “Thou shalt to bed, mon ange, with some hot bouillon, and the wing of a fowl. That goes well, hein?”

“Yes, please,” Léonie answered. “But there is Milor’ Rupert, and I fear that he will die!”

“Little foolish one!” Madame scolded. “I tell thee—moi qui te parle—that it is well with him. It is naught. A little blood lost; much weakness—and that is all. It is thou who art nigh dead with fatigue. Now thou shalt come with me.”

So Léonie, worn out with the terrors and exertions of the past two days, was tucked up between cool sheets, fed, crooned over, and presently left alone to sleep.

When she awoke, the morning sun streamed in at the window, and sounds of bustle came from the street below. Madame was smiling at her from the doorway.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Why—why it is morning!” she said. “Have I slept so long?”

“Nine of the clock, little sluggard. It is better now?”

“Oh, I am very well to-day!” Léonie said, and threw back the blankets. “But Rupert—the doctor——?”

“Doucement, doucement, said I not that it was naught? The doctor came when thou wert asleep, my cabbage, and in a little minute the bullet was out, and no harm done, by the grace of the good God. Milor’ lies on his pillows, and calls for food, and for thee.” Madame chuckled. “And when I bring him good broth he snatches the wig from his head, and demands red beef, as they have it in England. Dépęches toi, mon enfant.”

Twenty minutes later Léonie went dancing into Rupert’s chamber, and found that wounded hero propped up by pillows, rather pale, but otherwise himself. He was disgustedly spooning Madame’s broth, but his face brightened at the sight of Léonie.

“Hey, you madcap! Where in thunder are we now?”

Léonie shook her head.

“That I do not know,” she confessed. “But these people are kind, n’est-ce pas?”

“Deuced kind,” Rupert agreed, then scowled. “That fat woman won’t bring me food, and I’m devilish hungry. I could eat an ox, and this is what she gives me!”

“Eat it!” Léonie commanded. “It is very good, and an ox is not good at all. Oh, Rupert, I feared you were dead!”

“Devil a bit!” said Rupert cheerfully. “But I’m as weak as a rat, confound it. Stap me if I know what we’re at, the pair of us! What happened to you? And why by all that’s queer did Saint-Vire run off with you?”

“I do not know. He gave me an evil drug, and I slept for hours and hours. He is a pig-person. I hate him. I am glad that I bit him, and threw the coffee over him.”

“Did you, b’gad? Blister me if I ever met such a lass! I’ll have Saint-Vire’s blood for this, see if I don’t!” He wagged his head solemnly, and applied himself to the broth. “Here am I chasing you to God knows where, with never a sou in my pocket, nor a sword at my side, and the landlord’s hat on my head! And what they’ll be thinking at home the Lord knows! I don’t!”

Léonie curled herself up on the bed, and was requested not to sit on his lordship’s feet. She shifted her position a little, and related her adventures. That done, she demanded to know what had befallen Rupert.

“Blessed if I know!” said Rupert. “I went haring after you as far as the village, and learned the way you went. So I got me a horse, and set off for Portsmouth. But the luck was against me, so it was! You’d set sail an hour since, and the only boat leaving the harbour was a greasy old tub—well, well! What did I do then? ’Pon my soul I almost forget! No, I have it! I went off to sell the horse. Twenty meagrely guineas was all he fetched, but a worse——”

“Sold one of Monseigneur’s horses?” exclaimed Léonie.

“No, no ’twas a brute I got at the blacksmith’s, owned by—burn it, what’s the fellow’s name—Manvers!”

“Oh, I see!” said Léonie, relieved. “Go on. You did very well, Rupert!”

“Not so bad, was it?” said Rupert modestly. “Well, I bought a passage on the old tub, and we got in at Le Havre at one, or thereabouts.”

“We did not leave Le Havre until two! He thought you would not follow, and he said that he was safe enough now!”

“Safe, eh? I’ll show him!” Rupert shook his fist. “Where was I?”

“At Le Havre,” Léonie prompted.

“Oh, ay, that’s it! Well, by the time I’d paid this fee and that, my guineas were all gone, so off I went to sell my diamond pin.”

“Oh! It was such a pretty pin!”

“Never mind that. The trouble I had to get rid of the damned thing you’d scarce believe. ’Pon my soul, I believe they thought I’d stolen it!”

“But did you sell it?”

“Ay, for less than half its worth, rot it! Then I skipped off to the inn to inquire of you, and to get me something to eat. Thunder and turf, but I was hungry!”

“So was I!” sighed Léonie. “And that pig-person ate and ate!”

“You put me out,” said Rupert severely. “Where was I? Oh yes! Well, the landlord told me that Saint-Vire was gone off by coach to Rouen at two o’clock, so the next thing I had to do was to hire a horse to be after you again. That’s all there is to it, and devilish good sport it was! But where we are now, or what we’re to do, beats me!”

“The Comte will come, do you not think?” Léonie asked anxiously.

“I don’t know. He can’t very well snatch you when I’m here. I wish I knew what the plague he wants with you. Y’know, this is mighty difficult, for we haven’t either of us a notion what the game is we’re playing.” He frowned, thinking. “Of course, Saint-Vire may come to steal you again. He’ll have ridden back to Le Havre first, depend on’t, and when he finds we’ve not been there he may scour the country-side, for he knows he hit me, and it’s likely we’d be hiding somewhere near.”

“What are we to do?” asked Léonie, with pale cheeks.

“What, not afraid, are you? Damn it, he can’t walk off with you under my very nose!”

“Oh, he can, Rupert, he can! You are so weak you cannot help me!”

Rupert made an effort to hoist himself up, and failed dismally. He lay fuming.

“Well, damme, I can fire!”

“But we have no gun!” objected Léonie. “At any moment he may come, and these people will never be able to keep him out.”

“Pistol, child, pistol! Lord, what will you say next? Of course we have one! D’ye take me for a fool? Feel in the pockets of my coat.”

Léonie jumped down from the bed, and dragged my lord’s coat from the chair. She produced Mr. Fletcher’s unwieldy pistol from one of its pockets, and brandished it gleefully.

“Rupert, you are very clever! Now we can kill that pig-person!”

“Hi, put it down!” commanded Rupert in some alarm. “You know naught of pistols, and we’ll have an accident if you fiddle with it! The thing’s loaded and cocked!”

“I do know about pistols!” said Léonie indignantly. “You point it, so! And pull this thing.”

“For God’s sake, put it down!” cried Rupert. “You’re levelling the damned thing at me, silly chit! Put it on the table beside me, and find my purse. It’s in my breeches pocket.”

Léonie laid the pistol down reluctantly, and rummaged anew for the purse.

“How much have we?” Rupert asked.

Léonie emptied the guineas on to the bed. Three rolled on to the floor, and one dropped into Rupert’s broth with a splash.

“’Pon my soul, you are a careless minx!” said Rupert, fishing for the coin in his bowl. “There’s another gone now, under the bed!”

Léonie dived after the errant guineas, retrieved them, and sat down on the bed to count them.

“One, two, four, six, and a louis—oh, and another guinea, and three sous, and——”

“That’s not the way! Here, give ’em to me! There’s another gone under the bed, burn it!”

Léonie was grovelling under the bed in search of the coin when they heard the clatter of wheels outside.

“What’s that?” said Rupert sharply. “Quick! To the window!”

Léonie extricated herself with difficulty, and ran to the window.

“Rupert, ’tis he! Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, what are we to do?”

“Can you see him?” Rupert demanded.

“No, but there is a coach, and the horses are steaming! Oh listen, Rupert!”

Voices were heard below, expostulating. Evidently Madame was guarding the staircase.

“Saint-Vire, I’ll bet a monkey!” said Rupert. “Where’s that pistol? Plague take this broth!” He threw the bowl and the rest of its contents on to the floor, settled his wig straight, and reached out a hand for the pistol, a very grim look on his drawn young face.

Léonie darted forward and seized the weapon.

“You are not enough strong!” she said urgently. “See, you have exhausted yourself already! Leave me! I will shoot him dead!”

“Here, no, I say!” expostulated Rupert. “You’ll blow him to smithereens! Give it to me! Fiend seize it, do as I say!”

The commotion below had subsided a little, and footsteps could be heard mounting the stairs.

“Give that pistol to me, and get you to the other side of the bed,” ordered Rupert. “By Gad, we’ll see some sport now! Come here!”

Léonie had backed to the window, and stood with the pistol levelled at the door, her finger crooked about the trigger. Her mouth was shut hard, and her eyes blazed. Rupert struggled impatiently to rise.

“For God’s sake, give it to me! We don’t want to kill the fellow!”

“Yes, we do,” said Léonie. “He gave me an evil drug.”

The door opened.

“If you come one step into the room I will shoot you dead!” said Léonie clearly.