“Wishes, you say?  What is required of him?”

“He must trust me.”

“That is assured.”

“Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

“You have discussed the situation with him?”

“It was unavoidable.  Heaven will help us.”

“Did you tell your father all?”

“I told him you had saved my life yesterday, and that you would perhaps save his to-morrow.”

“To-morrow!  Yes, quite right; to-morrow I shall save his life, if it is his will.”

“How?  What?  Speak!  Speak!  If that were possible, how fortunately all things have come to pass!”

“However—­” I began hesitatingly.

“Well?”

“It will be impossible for you to accompany him.”

“I told you I was resolute.”

“I am quite confident, however, that I shall be able later to procure a passport for you.”

“First tell me about my father; my own distress is less important.”

“Well, I told you I had friends, did I not?”

“Yes.”

“To-day I sought out one of them.”

“Proceed.”

“A man whose name is familiar to you; whose name is a guarantee of courage and honor.”

“And this man is?”

“Marceau.”

“General Marceau?”

“Yes.”

“True, he will keep a promise.”

“Well, he has promised.”

“Mon Dieu!  How happy you make me!  What has he promised?  Tell me all.”

“He has promised to help us.”

“In what manner?”

“In a very simple manner.  Kleber has just had him promoted to the command of the western army.  He departs to-morrow night.”

“To-morrow night!  We shall have no time to make the smallest preparation.”

“There are no preparations to make.”

“I do not understand.”

“He will take your father with him.”

“My father?”

“Yes, as his secretary.  Arrived in the Vendee, your father will pledge his word to the general to undertake nothing against France.  From there he will escape to Brittany, and from Brittany to England.  When he arrives in London, he will inform you; I shall obtain a passport for you, and you will join him in London.”

“To-morrow,” exclaimed Solange; “my father departs tomorrow!”

“There is no time to waste.”

“My father has not been informed.”

“Inform him.”

“To-night?”

“To-night.”

“But how, at this hour?”

“You have a pass and my arm.”

“True.  My pass.”

I gave it to her.  She thrust it into her bosom.

“Now? your arm?”

I gave her my arm, and we walked away.  When we arrived at the Place
Turenne—­that is, the spot where we had met the night before—­she said: 
“Await me here.”

I bowed and waited.

She disappeared around the corner of what was formerly the Hotel Malignon.  After a lapse of fifteen minutes she returned.