re precarious. It was next
to impossible for them to send letters home, and therefore their danger
was not realized by their countrymen on the other side of the Channel.
Mrs. Bishop, in the faraway Welsh castle, grew impatient at Mary's
silence. Politics was a subject dear to her heart, but one tabooed at
Upton. At her first word upon the topic the family, her employers, left
the room, and she was consequently obliged to ignore it when she was with
them. But when, some months later on, two or three French refugees came
to Pembroke, she was quick to go to them, ostensibly for French lessons,
but in reality to hear their accounts of the scenes through which they
had passed. Forced to live in quiet, remote places, she longed for the
excitement only to be had in the large centres of action, and at one
time, in her discontent, began to make plans to join her sister in
France. While Eliza was thus contemplating a journey to Paris, Mary was
wondering how it would be possible either to continue living there or to
leave the country. It was equally out of the question to obtain fresh
supplies of money from England or a passport to carry her safely back.
She had, when she left London, only intended to be absent for a few
weeks, and had not even given up her rooms in George Street. But the
weeks had lengthened into months, and now her return was an
impossibility.

For motives of economy she left the large Filiettaz mansion. At first she
thought of making a trip to Switzerland, but this plan had to be
abandoned because of the difficulty in procuring a passport. She
therefore went to Neuilly, where, her ready money wellnigh exhausted, she
lived as simply as she could. Economy was doubly necessary at a time when
heavy taxes were sending a hungry multitude into the streets, clamoring
for bread. She was now more alone than ever. Her sole attendant was an
old man, a gardener. He became her warm friend, succumbing completely to
her power of attraction. With the gallantry of his race he could not do
enough for Madame. He waited upon her with unremitting attention; he even
disputed for the honor of making her bed. He served up at her table,
unasked, the grapes from his garden which he absolutely refused to give
to her guests. He objected to her English independence; her lonely walks
through the woods of Neuilly met with his serious disapproval, and he
besought her to allow him the privilege of accompanying her, painting in
awful colors the