jails were
so crowded with prisoners that he might fairly reckon upon weeks
before there was any actual necessity for action. Marthe Pichon
was waiting for him.

"Ah, Monsieur," she began, "but this is a terrible day! Oh, if I
had but known a day or two earlier they could have moved in time,
and now they are in the power of those wolves; but we will try
to save them. We have been talking it over. We will all go to the
tribunal, and we will take our husbands and our children with us,
and we will demand their release. We will not let them be murdered.
And now here are the clothes, but you need not put them on now.
There will be a boat here in a few minutes. We have told some of
the sailors how they misjudged you, and they are sorry, now it is
too late, that they would not listen when you spoke to them. However,
they will do all they can for you. I have sent a message by a boy
to my sister to say that I shall be down this evening, so they will
be expecting us. Ah, here is the boat!"

The splash of oars was heard, and a boat rowed along close to the
bank.

"Is that you, Pierre?"

"It is us, sure enough, Mere Pichon. Is all right?"

"Yes, we are both here."

In another minute the boat was rowed alongside, and Harry and the
woman got on board. There were few words spoken as the two men rowed
vigorously down stream. In three quarters of an hour some lights
were seen on the opposite bank, and the boat was headed towards
them and soon reached a little causeway.

"I shall not be more than twenty minutes," Mere Pichon said as she
got out.

"All right, we will wait!" was the reply, and mounting the causeway
La Mere Pichon led the way to the farthest cottage in the little
fishing-village. A light was burning within, and lifting the latch
she entered, followed by Harry. A fisherman and his wife were
sitting by the fire.

"Here, sister Henriette and brother Pierre," Marthe said; "you
have heard from me how a dear angel, who lived next door to me, has
nursed and tended my little Julie, and by blessing of the Virgin
brought her round from her illness; and those wretches, the Reds,
have carried her off to-day with her sister, and you know what it
is to fall into their hands. This is her brother, and I am going
to ask you to give him shelter and let him stay here with you. I
have brought him a suit of clothes with me, and no one will guess
that he is not the son of some comrade of yours. He will pay you
well for sheltering