“The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform the distance on foot.  When they arrived at the port the wind was high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel anchored far off in the road, and no means of getting on board, but by a fishing shallop that lay tossing like a cockle shell on the edge of the surf.  The Duchess determined to risk the attempt.  The seamen endeavored to dissuade her, but the imminence of her danger on shore, and the magnanimity of her spirit urged her on.  She had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner.  Such was the violence of the wind and waves, that he faltered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burden fall into the sea.

“The Duchess was nearly drowned; but partly through her own struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, she got to land.  As soon as she had a little recovered strength, she insisted on renewing the attempt.  The storm, however, had by this time become so violent as to set all efforts at defiance.  To delay, was to be discovered and taken prisoner.  As the only resource left, she procured horses; mounted with her female attendants en croupe behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied her; and scoured the country to seek some temporary asylum.

“While the Duchess,” continued the Marquis, laying his forefinger on my uncle’s breast to arouse his flagging attention, “while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the tempest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived at this chateau.  Her approach caused some uneasiness; for the clattering of a troop of horse, at dead of night, up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of the country, was enough to occasion alarm.

“A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, galloped ahead, and announced the name of the visitor.  All uneasiness was dispelled.  The household turned out with flambeaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam on a more weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came tramping into the court.  Such pale, care-worn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as the poor Duchess and her females presented, each seated behind her cavalier; while half drenched, half drowsy pages and attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep and fatigue.

“The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by my ancestors.  She was ushered into the Hall of the chateau, and the fires soon crackled and blazed to cheer herself and her train; and every spit and stewpan was put in requisition to prepare ample refreshments for the wayfarers.

“She had a right to our hospitalities,” continued the little Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness, “for she was related to our family.  I’ll tell you how it was:  Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde—­”

“But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau?” said my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of getting involved in one of the Marquis’s genealogical discussions.