for tidings which her son had promised to send, and they came at last in a small billet sent by one of his clerks.  The Coadjutor had absolutely fired at the notion of such a hit to the opposite party, and was only getting together what were called the “First of Corinthians,” namely, the corps who had belonged to him during the siege, and had obtained the nickname because he was titular Archbishop of Corinth.

Clement would not leave him a moment, lest he should be diverted from his purpose, but sent word to Madame Darpent that she, or whoever was to escort Madame de Bellaise, was to meet him at seven o’clock in the open space by the Barriere, showing a green light through the carriage window, when he would show a red one.

Oh! what might not had happened before we could get there!  I thought I was used enough to suspense, I who had heard the rattle of the musketry in more than one battle, but I should have been wild had not that best of women held my hands and soothed me and helped me to say my prayers.

Hours seemed to go by as we sat in the dark with our lamp behind the green curtain over the window, but at last the trampling of horses was heard and the red light appeared.  Presently Clement came to our door, and exchanged a few words, but he said he must return to the Coadjutor, who was in the best humour in the world.

The gates were closed, but the Coadjutor had no difficulty in passing them, and we followed in his train.  It was a dark night, but mounted servants carried flambeaux, and we saw the light glance on the Corinthians who guarded us.  At last we stopped.  We could not see then, but I visited the place afterwards, and saw it was a tall brick house, with a high wall round a courtyard.  Here the Coadjutor’s carriage drew up, and entrance was demanded for “Monseigneur l’Archeveque de Corinthe, Coadjutor de Paris.”  It may be supposed that the dragoon who kept the door made no difficulty.

The carriage moved on, we drew up, and Clement, who had waited, handed us out saying:  ’He tells me we are just in time.  Be as silent as possible.’

We found the court lighted with torches, the Coadjutor’s chaplain arranging his purple robe, as he walked on through the doors that were opened for him.  Sir Francis led Madame Darpent, Clement gave me his had, as we followed closely and noiselessly.

The chapel had its great wax candles alight on the altar.  We could see in, as we paused in the darkness of the antechapel, outside the screen, while the Coadjutor advanced the door.  My Margaret knelt, clinging closely to a great stone image.  The vile coward d’Aubepine was commanding—­for we heard him—­his soldiers to seize her.  The Abbe stood finding the place in his book; Lamont was at a safe distance, however, trying to induce her to rise.  The Coadjutor’s clear voice was heard.

‘Benedicite, Messieurs,’ he said, and oh! the start they gave!  ’What hole function am I interrupting, M. l’Abbe?  The lady is in the attitude of a penitent, but I was not aware that it was one of the customs of your order to absolve thus in public.’