"Nay. To be brief, the lady is a Frenchwoman. Ah! I beseech you," Bevill continued, "do not misunderstand me."
"'Tis very strange!"
"'Tis very simple. Listen, gentlemen. I go to help a young lady, a ward of my Lord Peterborough's----"
"What! A ward of Mordanto's!" the captain exclaimed, with a laugh. "The knight-errant par excellence!"
"The very same. He is my cousin--or, rather, I should say in all respect that I am his. I go to help this young lady to leave Liége in safety, and to escort her first to the English lines, and afterwards, if I can compass it, to England."
"She must be the only English lady there now. For very sure, if you get into Liége you will also be the only Englishman in it."
"It may be so--for a time. Yet, for certain, Liége must fall to us ere long. It is a place to be possessed of."
"But the Frenchwoman!" one of the younger officers exclaimed. "The Frenchwoman?"
"She is a wayside companion--one whom I came to know at an inn we both sojourned at. A widow, grave, serious, and withal somewhat young. A serious-minded woman. Some slight assistance I rendered her on the road 'twixt Louvain and that place," nodding towards St. Trond, "and since then I ride as her escort. Yet, in solemn truth, my mind is teased; for, French though she is beyond all doubt, and deemed me to be the same at first----"
"At first! And now?"