"You, milor!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no! I would be ashamed——"
She paused, and her cheeks became crimson whilst she looked down in utter confusion on her extraordinary attire.
"I had forgotten," she murmured tearfully. "François made me put on these awful clothes when we left Paris."
"Then I must lend you a cloak for to-night," Marguerite interposed with a smile. "But you need not mind your clothes, Madame. On this coast our people are used to seeing unfortunate fugitives landing in every sort of guise. To-morrow we must find you something wherein to travel to London."
"To London?" the stranger said with some eagerness. "Yes! I would wish to go to London."
"It will be quite easy. Mme. de Serval, with her son and two daughters and another friend, is travelling by the coach to-morrow. You could join them, I am sure. Then you would not be alone. You have money, Madame?" Marguerite concluded, with practical solicitude.
"Oh, yes!" the other replied. "I have plenty for present needs . . . in a wallet . . . under my clothes. I was able to collect a little—and I have not lost it I am not dependent," she added, with a smile of gratitude. "And as soon as I have found my husband——"
"Your husband?" Marguerite exclaimed.
"M. le Marquis de Fontenay," the other answered simply. "Perhaps you know him. You have seen him . . . in London? . . . Not?"
Marguerite shook her head.