knock at the door, and without waiting for permission
Chauvelin entered the room.

"My humble apologies to you, Lady Blakeney," he said in his usual suave
manner, "but our worthy host informs me that this is the only room in
which he can serve a meal. Therefore I am forced to intrude my presence
upon you."

Though he spoke with outward politeness, his tone had become more
peremptory, less bland, and he did not await Marguerite's reply before
he sat down opposite to her and continued to talk airily.

"An ill-conditioned fellow, our host," he said--"quite reminds me of
our friend Brogard at the Chat Gris in Calais. You remember him, Lady
Blakeney?"

"My sister is giddy and over-tired," interposed Armand firmly. "I pray
you, citizen, to have some regard for her."

"All regard in the world, citizen St. Just," protested Chauvelin
jovially. "Methought that those pleasant reminiscences would cheer
her. Ah! here comes the soup," he added, as a man in blue blouse and
breeches, with sabots on his feet, slouched into the room, carrying a
tureen which he incontinently placed upon the table. "I feel sure that
in England Lady Blakeney misses our excellent croutes-au-pot, the glory
of our bourgeois cookery--Lady Blakeney, a little soup?"

"I thank you, sir," she murmured.

"Do try and eat something, little mother," Armand whispered in her ear;
"try and keep up your strength for his sake, if not for mine."

She turned a wan, pale face to him, and tried to smile.

"I'll try, dear," she said.

"You have taken bread and meat to the citizens in the coach?" Chauvelin
called out to the retreating figure of mine host.

"H'm!" grunted the latter in assent.

"And see that the citizen soldiers are well fed, or there will be
trouble."

"H'm!" grunted the man again. After which he banged the door to behind
him.

"Citizen Heron is loath to let the prisoner out of his sight," explained
Chauvelin lightly, "now that we have reached the last, most important
stage of our journey, so he is sharing Sir Percy's mid-day meal in the
interior of the coach."

He ate his soup with a relish, ostentatiously paying many small
attentions to Marguerite all the time. He ordered meat for her--bread,
butter--asked if any dainties could be got. He was apparently in the
best of tempers.

After he had eaten and drunk he rose and bowed ceremoniously to her.

"Your pardon, Lady Blakeney," he said, "but I must confer with the
prisoner now, and take fro