enemy there—­the tide; and there was a time when we truly deemed that the mercy granted us had been that we had fallen into the hand of the Lord instead of the hand of cruel man.  Yes, Madame, and even for that did she give thanks, as she stood, never even trembling, on the low sandbank, with her babe in her bosom, and the sea creeping up on all sides.  She only turned to me with a smile, saying, ’She is asleep, she will not feel it, or know anything till she wakes up in Paradise, and sees her father.’  Never saw I a woman, either through nature or grace, so devoid of fear.  We were rescued at last, by the mercy of Heaven, which sent a fisherman, who bore us to his boat when benumbed with cold, and scarce able to move.  He took us to a good priest’s, Colombeau of Nissard, a man who, as Madame may know, is one of those veritable saints who still are sustained by the truth within their Church, and is full of charity and mercy.  He asked me no questions, but fed, warmed, sheltered us, and sped us on our way.  Perhaps, however, I was over-confident in myself, as the guardian of the poor child, for it was Heaven’s will that the cold and wet of our night on the sands—­though those tender young frames did not suffer therefrom—­should bring on an illness which has made an old man of me.  I struggled on as long as I could, hoping to attain to a safe resting-place for her, but the winter cold completed the work; and then, Madame—­oh that I could tell you the blessing she was to me!- -her patience, her watchfulness, her tenderness, through all the long weeks that I lay helpless alike in mind and body at Charente.  Ah!  Madame, had my own daughter lived, she could not have been more to me than that noble lady; and her cheerful love did even more for me than her tender care.’

‘I must see her,’ ejaculated the Duchesse; then added, ’But was it this illness that hindered you from placing her in safety in England?’

’In part, Madame; nay, I may say, wholly.  We learnt that the assembly was to take place here, and I had my poor testimony to deliver, and to give notice of my intention to my brethren before going to a foreign land, whence perhaps I may never return.’

‘She ought to be in England,’ said Madame de Quinet; ’she will never be safe from these kinsmen in this country.’

’M. de Nid de Merle has been all the spring in Poland with the King,’ said the minister, ’and the poor lady is thought to have perished at La Sablerie.  Thus the danger has been less pressing, but I would have taken her to England at once, if I could have made sure of her reception, and besides—–­’ be faltered.

‘The means?’ demanded the Duchess, guessing at the meaning.