“Oh, my God! I shall never see mamma again. Why, why did I leave her? If they have taken her away they would have taken me too.”
“How has this occurred?” said Lieutenant Cooke, while the midshipman strove to soothe the weeping girl.
“I will tell you, monsieur,” said Jean Plessis, “and then you must put me on shore, for I will never cease till I trace madame to where her enemies have taken her. She has not been, I feel certain, carried off by the revolutionary party, but by private enemies, who have contrived to track us to Toulon.”
“Why do you think that, Monsieur Plessis?” asked Lieutenant Cooke.
“I will tell you, monsieur,” replied the Frenchman. “We had scarcely passed the gates, and were making the best of our way to gain the appointed spot—the ruined quay—when from behind a low hedge half-a-dozen men sprang out. I was instantly knocked down by a blow from the butt end of a carbine, and rolled into a ditch. I was quite sensible, but remained still. They had seized the Duchess; she did not scream nor attempt to fly. I then heard one of the men say, ‘Bring up the Berlin;’ the next moment a calèche with two horses came out from behind the hedge through a gateway. Madame was put inside, and then the same man said, ‘Parbleu! I forgot; have you finished that fellow Plessis? Do not leave him to be hunting us out, I pray you; it’s bad enough to lose the little girl.’ As soon as I heard these words, I crept along the ditch, and fled as fast as I could, to save those villains the trouble of knocking me on the head.”
“Have you any idea,” said Lieutenant Cooke, “who these ruffians are?”
“I suspect they are employed by a kinsman of the late Duke and next heir, who would have inherited the property, had not the Duchess’s husband, some five years ago, made over the whole of his property to her, having had the power to will it to whom he pleased. This kinsman’s name is Ganel-Maria Montaut. He will not bring the Duchess to the guillotine, because, if she loses her life, the estates will be seized by the nation. Collet de Herbois would destroy her from motives of hatred and vengeance, she having scorned his daring proposals, after her husband’s death.”
“Then what do you think the best to do with this poor child?” questioned William Thornton, anxiously, as the keel of the boat grounded on a shingly beach.
“Get her as soon as possible to England, where she has wealthy relatives,” said Jean Plessis, “and God will reward you. The Ardens are of good family; besides, there are jewels of great value in that casket you have. As to me, I will never cease till I trace Madame la Duchesse, and if I can I will communicate with Mademoiselle Arden hereafter in England.”
So saying, he took the weeping girl in his arms and kissed her affectionately, and then, laying his hand on William Thornton’s arm, said emphatically—