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you had brought him! But that was not to be expected. Yes, he wrote to me. I will tell you—ah, but you are tired! You must sit down. Take the couch, Miss Merriot—
tiens
,
that is not a name for my stupid tongue!—Prue, my angel, some chocolate, yes? Marthe shall make it herself: you remember Marthe, no?’
    ‘Egad, is it the same fat Marthe,’ Robin said. ‘I drank her chocolate in Paris, ten years ago!’
    ‘The same, my cabbage, but fatter—oh, of an enormity! you would not believe! To think you should remember, and you a little
gamin
—not more than fourteen years, no? But the wickedness even then! And again in Rome, not?’
    ‘Oh, but it was my Lady Lowestoft, then, at the Legation. We—what were we? Sure, it must have been the Polish gentleman and his two sons. There had been some little fracas at Munich, as I remember.’
    This made my lady laugh again. She was off to the door, and sent her page running with orders to Marthe.
    ‘So the old gentleman wrote to you, madam?’ Prudence said. ‘Did he say he would send us?’
    ‘Say? Robert?
Mon Dieu
,
when did he in all his life say what one might so easily comprehend? Be sure it was all a mystery, and no names writ down.’
    Prudence chuckled. ‘Egad, we may be sure of that. But you knew?’
    ‘
A vrai dire.
I might guess—since I too know Robert. Ah, he might count on me, he knew well! It is this rebellion, not?’ She sank her voice a little, and her bright eyes were keen as needles.
    Robin put a finger to his lips. ‘To be frank, ma’am, I believe I’m under attainder.’
    Her very red lips formed an O, and she wrinkled up her nose. ‘Chut, chut! He must then put your head in a noose too?’
    ‘Why, madam, to say sooth we were not loth. Prudence lay snug enough at Perth.’
    My lady beamed upon Prudence. ‘I had thought you in the thick of the fight, my child. It is well. But since it ended, where have you been?
Voyons
,
it is many months since it is over, and you are but just come to me!’
    There came that bitter look of brooding into Robin’s eyes. It was Prudence who made answer. ‘Robin was fled to the hills, my lady. I waited snug enough, as he says.’
    ‘To the hills?’ My lady leaned a little forward. ‘With the Prince, no?’
    Robin made an impatient movement. The cloud did not lift from his brow. ‘Some of the time.’
    ‘We heard rumours that he had gone. It is true?’
    ‘He’s safe—in France,’ Robin said curtly.
    ‘The poor young man! And the
bon papa
? Whither went he?’
    ‘Lud, madam, do you ask us that?’ laughed Prudence. ‘In France, maybe, or maybe in Scotland still. Who knows?’
    The door opened, and the page let in fat Marthe, a tray in her hands. It was a very colossus of a woman, of startling girth, and with a smile that seemed to spread all over the full moon of her face. Like her mistress, from one to the other she looked, and was of a sudden smitten with laughter that shook all her frame like a jelly. The tray was set down; she clasped her hands and gasped: ‘Oh, la-la! To see the little
monsieur habillé en dame!
’
    Robin sailed up to her and swept a practised curtsey.
    ‘Your memory fails you, Marthe. Behold me—Prudence!’
    She gave his arm a playful slap.
‘
My
memory,
alors!
No, no, m’sieur, you are not yet large enough to be mademoiselle.’
    ‘Oh, unkind!’ Robin lamented, and kissed her roundly.
    ‘Marthe, there is need of secrecy, you understand?’ My lady spoke urgently.
    ‘
Bien, madame
;
I do not forget.’ Marthe put a finger to her lips. ‘
Tenez
,
it must be myself to wait always upon the false mademoiselle. I shall see to it.’ She nodded in a business-like fashion. ‘John is with you yet?’
    ‘Be very sure of it,’ Robin said.
    ‘All goes well, then. No one need suspect. I go to attend to the bedchambers.’ She went off with a rolling gait, and was found later in Robin’s room, twitting the solemn manservant.
    CHAPTER IV
    Mistress Prudence to Herself
    From my