'By this honour, Monseigneur,' said I, in a voice that grew tremulous with conflicting emotions, 'I presume that I am not to be treated as a prisoner of war.'
'Prisoner?—no, no my brave stranger—my daughter has told me all.'
'All?' I reiterated in my heart; 'what can he mean by all'?'
'I have much to thank you for, M. Blane; but I am an old soldier, and have few words to spare; yet I can well appreciate deeds of honour, faith, and loyalty. I would speak with you of my daughter, Mademoiselle Marie-Louise, whom you have hitherto known under the very homely name of Nicola.'
'Of Nicola—oh yes, Nicola!' I faltered involuntarily, for that dear name, rendered by association so delightful to my ear, made me start, as it stirred my inner heart. A large mirror hung near me; I surveyed my own face in it, and the immobility of its features surprised even myself. This expression was fortunate, as I was the centre of many curious eyes, that stared at me without the slightest ceremony.
'You hear me?' said the Duke, gently.
'Monseigneur, I am all dutiful attention.'
'Mademoiselle Louise was discovered last night at a country hostelry, between this and Commercy.'
'Discovered——'
'By the Count de Bitche, colonel of our petardiers, who had gone there on a mission of kindness, believing her to be a lady, whose protector had been killed by some of our people in a brawl; but imagine his astonishment, on finding there the Princess of Lorraine, attired like a little sister of Vincent de Paule!'