The roar of the falling waters, tumbling in a cataract on the further side of the Bridge, frightened me, but if Betty heard it she did not fear it, for she began to sing the plaintive little French lullaby we had so often heard, and De Grammont, leaning forward, touched me on the back as he whispered:—­

“God gives us an angel to steer our boat.”

The next moment the water caught us in its mighty suck, just under the upper edge of the arch, and almost before we were aware that we had started through, our boat made a plunge on the lower side, the perilous moment was past, and we were floating in comparatively still water two score yards below London Bridge.

Then Captain Bettina resumed her seat on the stern thwart, and we dipped our oars.

We were turning about to get under way again, when De Grammont cried out:—­

“Mon Dieu!  They are lost!  There they go under!  Ah, Jesu!”

We all turned our eyes toward the Bridge, but were too late to see the barge.  It had sunk in four fathoms of water, and every man aboard had gone down with it.

We backed water, resting on our oars, and presently the overturned barge came to the surface and floated past us, telling its sad story, “Perished in a bad king’s bad cause,”—­a story written on almost every page of the world’s history.

A short distance below the Tower, we met a large boat belonging to the ship in which George had come from France, which was waiting off Sheerness to take him back.  The boat had been plying between Deptford and the Bridge, looking for George, since early evening.  We recognized it by its long sweeps, and when we hailed it, we received the password and drew alongside.

All this time Frances had been allowed to sit in the bottom of the boat, she having assured us that she had taken no injury, but as we approached the French boat she arose, and when I asked her if she was hurt, she said, “No.”

When I asked her if she had the treaty, she replied, holding out her hand to George:—­

“Yes, here it is.  It would have been a pity, indeed, to have lost it after all our trouble.”

As we drew alongside the French boat, Hamilton whispered to Frances:—­

“You have nothing to fear from the king.  This affair shows him in a light so ridiculous that he will not care to make it public, and besides, he will not want to return the hundred thousand pounds.  You will be safe in London, and I shall write to you just as soon as I return to France.  If King Louis’s reward proves to be what I expect, I pray you come to me, for, after this affair, I dare not set my foot in England.”

At that moment we touched the other boat, and the Frenchmen grappled us to hold us alongside.  George had risen and was about to step aboard, when Frances, catching him by the arm, drew him back and sprang aboard the French boat ahead of him, saying:—­

“I shall not wait for a letter.  I am going with you now.”