'Monsieur, if you are a gentleman you will protect me!'
'With my life, madame,' I replied.
'With your sword would be more to the purpose,' said she, as I took her hand; 'by your voice you are a Scottish archer?'
'Would to heaven I were! I am but a poor gentleman, forced to leave his own country and seek military service in France.'
'Your name—'
'Arthur Blane, of Blanerne,—but who are they that pursue you?' I asked, while endeavouring to make out her features, which were partly concealed by a black velvet mask, through the holes of which her eyes sparkled with no common animation. By her voice she seemed young; by her bearing noble; and by her gloveless hands, which were small, white, and soft, I was assured that she was beautiful. 'Lady,' I resumed; 'to where shall I conduct you?'
'On your honour, I charge you neither to conduct nor follow me.'
'But you were molested—'
'By two tipsy gallants who, deeming me a grisette, I presume, have pursued me all the way from the Logis de Lorraine; but hark! you hear them,—I must leave you—'
'Alone—alone and here!'