She wondered that he had not come to her in spite of everything.

Perhaps he was already a captive; perhaps, in obedience to his father's orders, he was in hiding, waiting events.

That he could, even had his father commanded him, have left Paris as a fugitive without coming to see her, did not even occur to her as possible.
With these thoughts there was mingled a vague wonder at her own position.

A few weeks since petted and cared for as the eldest daughter of one of the noblest families of France, now a fugitive in the streets under the sole care of this English boy.

She had, the evening before, silently sided with Ernest.