A new restlessness seemed to have stolen in upon her. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. The passage was so narrow that there was only sufficient room for the cart to pass, with a single line of foot-soldiers on one side; and, as the walls of the bridge were covered with spectators, it was not deemed prudent to cross it till these persons were dislodged. DeSoto, seemed to notice her thoroughly. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. “Further than that, I am amazed that you should dare to allude to those few moments, to that single moment of folly. She remembered that she had not gone to bed until two o'clock in the morning. Farewell. Fear nothing. By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St.
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