ll too easy. We get none of the danger."

"Oho! I thought that you would bring that argument forward, you
incorrigible grumbler," laughed Sir Percy good-humouredly. "Let me tell
you that if you start to-morrow from Paris in that spirit you will run
your head and Armand's into a noose long before you reach the gate of
Neuilly. I cannot allow either of you to cover your faces with too much
grime; an honest farm labourer should not look over-dirty, and your
chances of being discovered and detained are, at the outset, far greater
than those which Ffoulkes and Tony will run--"

Armand had said nothing during this time. While Blakeney was unfolding
his plan for him and for Lord Hastings--a plan which practically was a
command--he had sat with his arms folded across his chest, his head sunk
upon his breast. When Blakeney had asked if they were satisfied, he
had taken no part in Hastings' protest nor responded to his leader's
good-humoured banter.

Though he did not look up even now, yet he felt that Percy's eyes were
fixed upon him, and they seemed to scorch into his soul. He made a great
effort to appear eager like the others, and yet from the first a chill
had struck at his heart. He could not leave Paris before he had seen
Jeanne.

He looked up suddenly, trying to seem unconcerned; he even looked his
chief fully in the face.

"When ought we to leave Paris?" he asked calmly.

"You MUST leave at daybreak," replied Blakeney with a slight, almost
imperceptible emphasis on the word of command. "When the gates are first
opened, and the work-people go to and fro at their work, that is the
safest hour. And you must be at St. Germain as soon as may be, or the
farmer may not have a sufficiency of horses available at a moment's
notice. I want you to be spokesman with Achard, so that Hastings'
British accent should not betray you both. Also you might not get
a conveyance for St. Germain immediately. We must think of every
eventuality, Armand. There is so much at stake."

Armand made no further comment just then. But the others looked
astonished. Armand had but asked a simple question, and Blakeney's reply
seemed almost like a rebuke--so circumstantial too, and so explanatory.
He was so used to being obeyed at a word, so accustomed that the merest
wish, the slightest hint from him was understood by his band of devoted
followers, that the long explanation of his orders which he gave to
Armand struck them all with a strange sense