"Ah! yes, Monsieur Pembroke. A member of the household?"

"No--a friend."

"I make a mistake," quickly interposed the traveller, "Pardon. I am come
from Coventry, Monsieur Pembroke, in an everlasting an eternal stage, a
monster of a carriage, monsieur. It is only a few days since that I
arrive from France."

"Ah, France!" exclaimed Tom, recalling that only a little while before he
and Dan had been dreaming of that magic country. And here was a person
who actually lived in France, who had just come from there, who
extraordinarily chose to leave that delightful land for the Inn at the
Red Oak in mid-winter.

"France," he repeated; "all my life, sir, I have been longing to
go there."

"So?" said the Marquis, raising his white eyebrows with interest. "You
love _ma belle patrie_, eh? _Qui Sait_?--you will perhaps some day go
there. You have interests, friends in my country?"

"No, none," Tom answered. "I wish I had. You come from Paris, sir?"

"_Mais oui_."

For some time they chatted in such fashion, the Marquis answering Tom's
many questions with characteristic French politeness, but turning ever
and anon a pathetic glance toward the door through which Dan and Nancy
had disappeared. It was with undisguised satisfaction that he greeted