crecy; she will stand between you and the rest
of the household, in concocting some plausible story. To every friend
who calls, to anyone of our world whom you may meet, you must tell the
same tale, and if you note an air of incredulity in anyone, if you hear
whispers of there being some mystery, well! let the world wag its busy
tongue--I care less than naught: it will soon tire of me and my doings,
and having torn my reputation to shreds will quickly leave me in peace.
But to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes," she added earnestly, "tell the whole truth
from me. He will understand and do as he thinks right."

"I will do all you ask, Lady Blakeney, and am proud to think that I
shall be serving you, even in so humble and easy a capacity. When do you
start?"

"At once. Good-bye, Juliette."

She bent down to the young girl and kissed her tenderly on the forehead,
then she glided out of the room as rapidly as she had come. Juliette, of
course, did not try to detain her, or to force her help of companionship
on her when obviously she would wish to be alone.

Marguerite quickly reached her room. Her maid Lucie was already waiting
for her. Devoted and silent as she was, one glance at her mistress' face
told her that trouble--grave and imminent--had reached Blakeney Manor.

Marguerite, whilst Lucie undressed her, took up the passport and
carefully perused the personal description of one, Celine Dumont, maid
to Citizeness Desiree Candeille, which was given therein: tall, blue
eyes, light hair, age about twenty-five. It all might have been vaguely
meant for her. She had a dark cloth gown, and long black cloak with hood
to come well over the head. These she now donned, with some thick shoes,
and a dark-coloured handkerchief tied over her head under the hood, so
as to hide the golden glory of her hair.

She was quite calm and in no haste. She made Lucie pack a small hand
valise with some necessaries for the journey, and provided herself
plentifully with money--French and English notes--which she tucked well
away inside her dress.

Then she bade her maid, who was struggling with her tears, a kindly
farewell, and quickly went down to her coach.

Chapter XVII: Boulogne

During the journey Marguerite had not much leisure to think. The
discomforts and petty miseries incidental on cheap travelling had
the very welcome effect of making her forget, for the time being, the
soul-rendering crisis through which she was now passing.

Fo