We hurried on without further speech, looking for a hackney-coach; and when this was found and hailed, the lady turned, and holding out her hand to me, said: “Sir, forgive the discomposure which prevented my sooner acknowledgment of your services. What would have become of me without your aid? I cannot say half what I feel;” and the lovely creature's eyes filled as she spake.
“My dear young lady,” I said, bending over and kissing her hand, “you could say nothing that would heighten the happiness I have had in being of service to you;” and in order not to add to her generous embarrassment I handed her into the coach, whereupon our common rescuer giving a direction to the man, which I did not overhear, she and her maid drove off. Then, not to be behind so fair an original, I turned and complimented the stranger upon his timely succour.
“Sir,” said he, in French, “I perceive, from some sufficient reason, which I can readily divine, it is convenient for you to appear in disguise.”
“Truly, monsieur,” I returned, “I did not hope that a disguise would protect me from a discerning eye such as yours, but it suffices for the crowd. I am certain, though, that I confide in a gentleman when I say I am Hugh Maxwell of Kirkconnel, late captain in Berwick's Foot, and am entitled to qualify myself as Chevalier.”
“And I, Chevalier,” he replied, with equal frankness, “am the Vicomte Gaston de Trincardel, at present on a diplomatic mission towards the Court.”
Being equally satisfied with each other's condition, we repaired to his lodgings in St. James's Street, where we fell into familiar conversation, in the course of which the Vicomte said,
“I suppose I am correct in my belief that you have been engaged in the affair of Charles Edward?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Is there any reliable intelligence of his whereabouts?”
“To be absolutely frank with you, my dear Vicomte, it is a matter of the most perfect indifference to me where he is, or what becomes of him.”