"Oh! she may be there yet."
"Ouf, messire! would you have a pretty girl to sleep all night among these cold marble knights and dead bishops? She has left it, of course; but amid the thousands who have left or are leaving the city, and the great trains of the prince of Ravenstein, the counts of Nassau, Bommel, and others, now departing by all our gates and bridges, the task of tracing and discovering her would be no sinecure."
Sir Patrick stamped his right foot with vexation.
"If I had your devil of a bishop on Scottish ground, I would soon wrench the secret out of him."
"Perhaps so, messire; but he has at Mechlin an ugly wheel whereon folks are sometimes broken alive; and that is not pleasant. Is messire sure that he recognized the lady?"
"Sure, Maître Baudoin, as that I now speak to you. Oh! I would know that sweet face among ten thousand."
"Sweet—hum;" the little Frenchman began to get quite interested; "is she a countrywoman of messire?"
"Yes."
"A sister?" persisted the hosteller, who burned with curiosity.
"No—no."