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Harlock had some magical powers to make all right.
    “How did you get here?” Degan asked.
    “It was not at all difficult. I had the carte civile of Agnès Maillard. I had also her clothes. It was fortunate her family lived in Berck, not so far from Calais, giving me a good excuse for my trip. With my carte civile and my bonnet rouge, I had only to smile prettily at the gardes and show my cockade, and I was allowed to pass everywhere. But it was very far—about two hundred kilometers to Berck, and another hundred to Calais along the coast. Comme j’ é tais fatigué!”
    “You walked three hundred kilometers!” her father shouted. “How the devil far is that in miles, Degan?”
    “Roughly one hundred and eighty, but that only takes her to Calais.”
    “Oh, but from Dover to London, that was nothing,” Minou assured them blithely. “I didn’t walk all the way either. I had a very nice ride in a farmer’s cart, on top of his choux, from Argenteuil to Chantilly, and there a boy lent me his ass for five kilometers, and at Berck the Maillards took me in their fishing boat to Touquet—only ten kilometers, but it was a rest from walking. Oh, and very useful! They loaned me boy’s clothing to wear after I got to England, so that the men would stop pestering me, you know. They are really dreadful flirts, those Englishmen.”
    Degan’s head jerked sharply toward her at this speech, but she was unaware of it. “Best of all, they arranged for me to cross the Channel in a smuggler’s boat. An English one, Papa, so you need not worry I was in any danger. Though the revenuers nearly caught us. There was a good chase off New Romney. Luckily it was extremely foggy, and we got away without dumping the brandy.”
    “You walked from Romney to London? Why did you not send word to your father?” Degan demanded.
    “I tried to do that, but my money, he was no good. I had only assignats, you see. French revolutionary paper money that that old fox Belhomme sold me—at the black-market prices too. I paid too much for it, but in France it was acceptable. They prefer gold, bien entendu. It was pleasant walking in England—so peaceful, no gardes anywhere to hide from, no notices with crowds around worrying what the government would ration next, no angry mobs. I enjoyed it, and the bakers were very kind. One in Tenterden gave me two stale loaves for only sweeping out his shop and washing the pans. I never tasted anything so good. Could I have some bread, Papa?” she asked, suddenly remembering that she had dined on only a cold half of chicken.
    “Mercy, it slipped my mind. Reetch!” he called to the butler, and ordered a meal, while Minou continued with her story.
    “It was not at all unpleasant in England, for the hayricks were quite dry, and made a soft bed. You are having a dry summer, non? Except for tonight. Malheureusement I was still two miles from London when the maudit rain started.” She adjusted her shawl nonchalantly, then turned again to her father to inquire in a polite tone, “And how do you go on, Papa? You are well, I hope?”
    “Yes, yes, I am fine, but your mother and Edward—how are they?”
    “They survive; it is enough. Mama is become thin. She looks very elegant, and has got her hair cropped à la victime, like myself, ready for the guillotine. They cut the hair first, you know. I found we looked peculiar at first, unpowdered too, but Mama has got a little gray, and looks well in the new do. Mademoiselle Lange said she should go on the stage, but of course mademoiselle is presently an enemy of the Revolution, and can arrange nothing. Rouzet, the deputy, was dangling after her—Mama, I mean—till the duchesse d’Orleans arrived and snapped him up. Could I have a glass of your excellent brandy while we await dinner?”
    Her father poured her a glass, and she sipped it carefully, the care in an examination of its taste. “This is very good,” she complimented him. “I realize now Belhomme was