midnight
` What country come ye frae ? ' ` I flew across the sea , ' he said ; `` Twas but this very day . ' '' Old Ballad . Five months had passed away since the midnight flight from England , when Anne Woodford was sitting on a stone bench flanked with statues in the stately gardens of the Palace of St. Germain , working away at some delicate point lace , destined to cover some of the deficiencies of her dress , for her difficulties were great , and these months had been far from happy ones . The King was in Ireland , the Queen spent most of the time of his absence in convents , either at Poissy or Chaillot , carrying her son with her to be the darling of the nuns , who had for the most part never even seen a baby , and to whom a bright lively child of a year old was a perfect treasure of delight . Not wishing to encumber the good Sisters with more attendants than were needful , the Queen only took with her one lady governess , one nurse , and one rocker , and this last naturally was Pauline Dunord , both a Frenchwoman and a Roman Catholic . This was in itself no loss to Anne .