Your maid would not be of the least protection. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. ‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left them. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. We aren’t worth it. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one. .
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