"I must confess it to him--I must--I must!" she murmured faintly. "I must. I can not die with such a secret in my heart."
[CHAPTER II.]
THE TRAVELLER FROM ENGLAND.
A great Berline à quatre chevaux halted at the North Gate outside Paris, and the young man seated within the carriage let down the window and prepared to once more answer all the questions that would be put to him. Yet he also thanked Heaven, in a somewhat wearied manner, that this must be the last of it. After that he would be in Paris, with nothing before him but to drive as fast as might be to the Rue Champfleury, known long ago as La Rue Honteuse.
Then the formula began once more, was repeated and gone through with, precisely in the same manner as it had been gone through with at Boulogne, where he had landed, at Amiens, Abbeville, and half a dozen other towns and villages.
"Monsieur's name?" asked the guet, respectfully enough, while as each answer was made he glanced at the passport handed to him and countersigned by the Ambassador to England from "Louis, Roi de France et de Navarre, etc."
"Martin Ashurst."
"Country?"
"England."
"Position?"