conversation had hardly begun when Antoinette inquired:

"Have you seen Philip?"

A slight pallor overspread the cheeks of Dolores, but the next instant
she responded, calmly:

"I have seen Philip. He, too, has been arrested, and he will be brought
here to-day."

Antoinette was eager to know the circumstances of Philip's arrest.
Dolores related them, and to do so she was obliged to give her companion
some account of her own life since she left the Chateau de Chamondrin
four years before. Antoinette was affected to tears by the story of her
friend's misfortunes. She interrupted her again and again to pity and
caress her, and Dolores could not summon up courage to speak of her love
for Philip, or of what had passed between them.

Then, it was Antoinette's turn to speak of herself and of her own past;
and she soon revealed the fact that Philip had solemnly plighted his
troth to her at last. She also told her friend that she could not endure
her life in England, separated from him, and that anxiety for his safety
had induced her to leave the Reed mansion by stealth and come to France
in quest of him.

In London, she had sought the protection of the Chevalier de Millemont,
an aged nobleman, and Philip's devoted friend. That gentleman, after
vainly attempting to dissuade her, at last consented to make such
arrangements as would enable her to reach France in safety. It was
through his efforts that Antoinette was allowed to take passage in a
small vessel that was sent to bear a message from the princes to La
Vendee. On reaching the coast of Brittany where the vessel landed, she
and her travelling companions parted. She was eager to reach Paris, but
found that the journey would be no easy task. She finally succeeded in
finding a man who agreed to take her as far as Nantes in his carriage.
He procured two passports, one for his own use, and in which he figured
as a grain merchant; the other for Antoinette, who was represented to be
his daughter. Unfortunately, they stopped for refreshments at a small
village near Nantes; and Antoinette's unmistakable air of distinction
and the whiteness of her hands led people to suspect that she was not
the child of a petty village merchant. The man discovered this; his
fears were aroused, and while Antoinette was sitting in the parlor of
the inn, he harnessed his horses and drove off at full speed. This
cowardly desertion filled the girl with dismay. On finding herself
alone, she could