teal a long march
upon them. I consider that we are now safe as far as Flushing."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

WHAT OCCURRED AT FLUSHING, AND WHAT OCCURRED WHEN WE GOT OUT OF
FLUSHING.

An hour before day-break we started; the snow was thick on the ground,
but the sky was clear, and without any difficulty or interruption was
passed through the towns of Axel and Haist, arrived at Terneuse on the
fourth day, and went over to Flushing in company with about a dozen more
stragglers from the main body. As we landed, the guard asked us whether
we were conscripts. O'Brien replied that he was, and held out his
paper. They took his name, or rather that of the person it belonged to,
down in a book, and told him that he must apply to the _etat major_
before three o'clock. We passed on, delighted with our success, and
then O'Brien pulled out the letter which had been given to him by the
woman of the cabaret who had offered to assist me to escape, when
O'Brien passed off as a gendarme, and reading the address, demanded his
way to the street. We soon found out the house, and entered.

"Conscripts!" said the woman of the house, looking at O'Brien; "I am
billeted full already. It must be a mistake. Where is your order?"

"Read," said O'Brien, handing her the letter.

She read the letter, and putting it into her neckerchief, desired him to
follow her. O'Brien beckoned me to come, and we went into a small room.
"What can I do for you?" said the woman; "I will do all in my power;
but, alas! you will march from here in two or three days."

"Never mind," replied O'Brien, "we will talk the matter over by-and-by,
but at present only oblige us by letting us remain in this little room;
we do not wish to be seen."

"_Comment donc_!--you a conscript, and not wish to be seen! Are you,
then, intending to desert?"

"Answer me one question; you have read that letter, do you intend to act
up to its purport, as your sister requests?"

"As I hope for mercy I will, if I suffer everything. She is a dear
sister, and would not write so earnestly if she had not strong reasons.
My house and everything you command are yours--can I say more?"

"What is your name?" inquired O'Brien.

"Louise Eustache; you might have read it on the letter."

"Are you married?"

"O yes, these six years. My husband is seldom at home; he is a Flushing
pilot. A hard life, harder even that that of a soldier. Who is this
lad?"

"He is my brother, who, if I