hildren might
learn to do so--as they shall!--as they shall!"

St. Georges took the book--a tiny one--and put it in his pouch also,
along with his tablets; then he said to the mousquetaire: "Friend, if
you have still a mind to depart, let us set out. Yet I would not take
you from your comfortable nook if duty does not make it absolutely
necessary for you to go."

"I will go," the other said, springing to his feet. "All is ready; my
horse has rested for two days; at least we can get some distance on
our route. Come, monsieur, let us away."

Therefore St. Georges paid the reckoning due, not forgetting among
other things to give the woman's children--who were now all up and
ready for their breakfast--some little sums to buy things with; and so
he bade the woman farewell, thanking her again and again for her
goodness, and promising that he should certainly seek the Sieur de
Blecy on his arrival in Paris.

"Also," he said, as he shook her by the hand, "I shall find some means
of letting you know of her welfare. Burgundy is far from Paris, yet
there is always continuous passing to and fro from one to the
other--you shall hear from me."

"I hope so," she said, "and, _tenez!_ De Blecy is himself of Burgundy;
his old mother lives near here--not a league away--send through him.
He corresponds often with her and others. A word to me will reach.
Farewell, monsieur;--farewell, mousquetaire. Adieu!"

Yet the last word was not said; for while the soldier went into the
inn yard to fetch the horses and St. Georges brought down from the
room she slept in his little child--who prattled in her baby way to
him while her soft blue eyes smiled up in his--and wrapped it in his
great cloak preparatory to mounting the block before the inn door, she
asked:

"Why, why, monsieur, do you desire that no one should know where she
is? Why keep her existence a secret? Surely there are none who would
harm so innocent a little thing as that?"

He paused a moment, looking down at her from his great height as
though meditating deeply; then he said:

"I will trust you fully. I wish her whereabouts--not her existence,
that is already known--kept secret until the time comes that either
she shall be in safety out of France or I can be ever near to guard
and watch over her; for her life--after mine--stands in the path of
others' greed--perhaps of others' ambition. My life first, then hers.
I know it, have known it long; until a day or so ago I though