anner?"

"In a very simple manner. Kleber has just had him promoted to the command
of the western army. He departs to-morrow night."

"To-morrow night! We shall have no time to make the smallest preparation."

"There are no preparations to make."

"I do not understand."

"He will take your father with him."

"My father?"

"Yes, as his secretary. Arrived in the Vendee, your father will pledge his
word to the general to undertake nothing against France. From there he
will escape to Brittany, and from Brittany to England. When he arrives in
London, he will inform you; I shall obtain a passport for you, and you
will join him in London."

"To-morrow," exclaimed Solange; "my father departs tomorrow!"

"There is no time to waste."

"My father has not been informed."

"Inform him."

"To-night?"

"To-night."

"But how, at this hour?"

"You have a pass and my arm."

"True. My pass."

I gave it to her. She thrust it into her bosom.

"Now? your arm?"

I gave her my arm, and we walked away. When we arrived at the Place
Turenne--that is, the spot where we had met the night before--she said:
"Await me here."

I bowed and waited.

She disappeared around the corner of what was formerly the Hotel Malignon.
After a lapse of fifteen minutes she returned.

"Come," she said, "my father wishes to receive and thank you."

She took my arm and led me up to the Rue St. Guillaume, opposite the Hotel
Mortemart. Arrived here, she took a bunch of keys from her pocket, opened
a small, concealed door, took me by the hand, conducted me up two flights
of steps, and knocked in a peculiar manner.

A man of forty-eight or fifty years opened the door. He was dressed as a
working man and appeared to be a bookbinder. But at the first utterance
that burst from his lips, the evidence of the seigneur was unmistakable.

"Monsieur," he said, "Providence has sent you to us. I regard you an
emissary of fate. Is it true that you can save me, or, what is more, that
you wish to save me?"

I admitted him completely to my confidence. I informed him that Marceau
would take him as his secretary, and would exact no promise other than
that he would not take up arms against France.

"I cheerfully promise it now, and will repeat it to him."

"I thank you in his name as well as in my own."

"But when does Marceau depart?"

"To-morrow."

"Shall I go to him to-night?"

"Whenever you please; he expects you."

Father and daughter looked