"Yes, monsieur—you have been very ill."
"And you—you——"
"I have been occupying the apartments of Mademoiselle de Broglie; ah, good heaven, what were you thinking of?" said the soubrette, with another merry laugh. "You occupy my room in the Chateau of Bourgneuf, belonging to the Countess Ninon, mother of the young count, who now is fighting under Maréchal de Broglie in Germany."
"Would Boisguiller's Hussars really have killed me, alone and defenceless as I was?"
"Killed you, my poor child? of course they would."
"Are they still here?" I asked, with natural anxiety.
"Ma foi! no—they have long since been gone in pursuit of the English, who are flying in all directions towards the sea. These Hussars are very ferocious. Some of them are contributions from the Fours of Paris, and valuable contributions to the army they are, as every one knows."
"Fours—I know not what you mean."
"Indeed!"
"No, I assure you," said I, laying my hand by chance upon hers.