t absolutely
unforeseen eventuality had changed Blakeney's usual irresponsible gaiety
into a consciousness of the inevitable, of the inexorable decrees of
Fate.

With an anxious sigh, Sir Andrew turned away from his chief and went
hack to the spinney to select for his own purpose one of the three
horses which Hastings and Tony had unavoidably left behind.

"And you, Blakeney--how will you go back to that awful Paris?" he said,
when he had made his choice and was once more back beside Percy.

"I don't know yet," replied Blakeney, "but it would not be safe to ride.
I'll reach one of the gates on this side of the city and contrive to
slip in somehow. I have a certificate of safety in my pocket in case I
need it.

"We'll leave the horses here," he said presently, whilst he was helping
Sir Andrew to put the horse in the shafts of the coal-cart; "they cannot
come to much harm. Some poor devil might steal them, in order to escape
from those vile brutes in the city. If so, God speed him, say I. I'll
compensate my friend the farmer of St. Germain for their loss at
an early opportunity. And now, good-bye, my dear fellow! Some time
to-night, if possible, you shall hear direct news of me--if not, then
to-morrow or the day after that. Good-bye, and Heaven guard you!"

"God guard you, Blakeney!" said Sir Andrew fervently.

He jumped into the cart and gathered up the reins. His heart was heavy
as lead, and a strange mist had gathered in his eyes, blurring the last
dim vision which he had of his chief standing all alone in the gloom,
his broad, magnificent figure looking almost weirdly erect and defiant,
his head thrown back, and his kind, lazy eyes watching the final
departure of his most faithful comrade and friend.

CHAPTER XXII. OF THAT THERE COULD BE NO QUESTION

Blakeney had more than one pied-a-terre in Paris, and never stayed
longer than two or three days in any of these. It was not difficult for
a single man, be he labourer or bourgeois, to obtain a night's lodging,
even in these most troublous times, and in any quarter of Paris,
provided the rent--out of all proportion to the comfort and
accommodation given--was paid ungrudgingly and in advance.

Emigration and, above all, the enormous death-roll of the past eighteen
months, had emptied the apartment houses of the great city, and those
who had rooms to let were only too glad of a lodger, always providing
they were not in danger of being worried by the committees