As I slipped through the wicket I cast a hurried glance around me, and then, acting on the impulse of the moment, ran forwards along the road for about fifty paces, with Babette's dagger clenched in my hand. There I was brought to a stand by a dead wall, studded with iron spikes at the top, which rose sheer above me for fully twenty feet and barred all further progress. It was evident that the Toison d'Or stood in a blind alley, and that I had taken the wrong turning. Not even an ape could have scaled the moss-grown and slippery surface of those stones, and, leaning against a buttress in the darkest corner of the wall, I stood for a moment or so and waited, determined to sell my life as dearly as possible should I be pursued. There was no sound, however; all was still as the grave. I ran my eye down the road, but the moon was not bright enough to penetrate the shadows, and I could make out nothing except the many-storied and gabled buildings that, packed closely to each other, beetled over the passage. The hanging turrets projecting from these houses were for all the world like gigantic wasps' nests, such as are seen clinging to the rocks of the upper Dordogne. Here and there a turret window showed a light glimmering behind it, and, had I time, I might have pictured to myself a resemblance between this 'beetle-browed' passage to that of some long, narrow, and sluggish mountain tarn, guarded on each side by an impassable barrier of frowning rocks. It was, however, not a moment to let oneself be impressed by scenery, and, eyes and ears on the stretch, I peered into the indistinct light to see the slightest movement, to catch the slightest sound. But the silence remained undisturbed. It was an eyrie of night-hawks, and they were hunting now far from their nests. So I stole forth from the shadow of the buttress, and, keeping the dagger ready to strike, retraced my steps past the Toison d'Or and along the winding and crooked passage, keeping as far away from the walls as possible to avoid any sudden attack, until at last I found myself in a cross street, down which I went, taking note of such landmarks as I could to guide me back, when I should return with vengeance in my right hand. The cross street led into other winding and twisting lanes, whose squalid inhabitants were either flitting up and down, or quarrelling amongst themselves, or else sitting in a sullen silence. I guessed I had got myself into one of the very worst parts of Paris, and as I had heard that it was more than dangerous to be recognised in such places as one not belonging to the noble order of cut-purses, I did not halt to make inquiries, but pursued my way steadily along the labyrinth of streets, feeling more lost at every step I took. Once or twice I passed a street stall, and, as the flare of the torches which lit up its gruesome contents fell on me, I was looked at curiously; but so soiled and wet was I, so torn my cloak and doublet in the struggle with de Gomeron's bravos, that at the most they took me for a night-hawk of superior feather, whose plumes had been ruffled by a meeting with the law. That I inspired this idea was evident, indeed, from the way in which one terrible-looking old man leaned forwards and, shaking his palsied finger at me, croaked out:

'Run, captain; run, Messire de Montfaucon!'

I hurried past as fast as I could, followed by the laughter of those who heard the remark, thinking to myself it was lucky it was no worse than a jibe that was flung at me.

How long I wandered in that maze of streets I cannot say, but at last I came upon an open space, and, finding it more or less empty, stopped to take my bearings. My only chance to get back to my lodging that night – and it was all-important to do so – was to strike the Seine at some point or other; but in what direction the river lay, I could not, for the life of me, tell. At last I determined to steer by the moon, and, holding her track to the south-west of me, went on, keeping as a landmark on my left the tall spire of a church whose name I then did not know. So I must have plodded on for about an hour, until at last I was sensible that the street in which I was in was wider than the others I had passed through, and, finally, I saw before me a couple of lanterns, evidently slung on a rope that stretched across a street much broader still than the one I was in. That, and the sight of the lanterns, convinced me that I had gained one of the main arteries of the city, and it was with an inward 'Thank God!' that I stepped under the light and looked about me, uncertain which direction I should take, for if I kept the moon behind me, as I had done hitherto, I should have to cross over and leave the street, and I felt sure this would be a serious error that would only lead me into further difficulties. It was as yet not more than a half-hour or so beyond compline, so the street was full. And unwilling to attract the attention of the watch, which had a habit of confining its beat to places where it was least required, I began to stroll slowly down, determined to inquire the way of the first passer-by who looked in a mood amiable enough to exchange a word with so bedraggled a wretch as I was then.

I had not long to wait, for in a short time I noticed one who was evidently a well-to-do citizen hurrying along, with a persuading staff in his right hand, and the muffled figure of a lady clinging on to his left arm. I could make out nothing of her; but the man himself was short and stout of figure, and I ran to the conclusion that he must be a cheery soul, for, as far as I could see by the light of the street lamps, he looked like one who enjoyed a good meal and a can to follow, and approaching, I addressed him —

'Pardon, monsieur, but I have lost my way.'

I had hardly spoken so much, when, loosening his arm from the lady, the little man jumped back a yard, and began flourishing his stick.

I saw that in the next moment he would shout for the watch, and stopped him with a quick —

'Monsieur, I have been attacked and robbed – there,' and I pointed in the direction whence I had come. 'I have escaped but with my life, and I pray you tell me how to find my way to the Rue de Bourdonnais.' The lady, who had at first retreated with a little cry of alarm behind her companion, here stepped forward with a soft —

'Poor man! are you much hurt?'

'Not in the least, mademoiselle, thank you,' and I unconsciously moved a step forward.

'Stand back!' called out the little man, dabbing his stick at me, 'and say Madame, sir – the lady is my wife.'

'Pardon my error, sir, but – '

The lady, however, interposed —

'Be still. Mangel. So you wish to find the Rue de Bourdonnais, sir?'

'He had better find the watch,' interrupted Maître Mangel; 'they have gone that way, towards the Porte St. Martin.'

'This, then, is the – '

'Rue St. Martin.'

'A hundred thanks, mademoiselle.'

'Madame —Madame Mangel, monsieur.'

'Pardon, I now know where I am, and have only to follow my nose to get to where I want. I thank you once more, and good night.'

'Good night, monsieur,' answered Madame; but Maître Mangel, who was evidently of a jealous complexion, tucked his wife under his arm and hurried her off, muttering something under his breath.

I let my eye follow them for a moment or so, and ere they had gone many paces, Madame Mangel, who appeared to be of a frolicsome spirit, turned her head and glanced over her shoulder, but was immediately pulled back with a jerk by her husband, whose hand moved in much the same manner as that of a nervous rider when clawing at the reins of a restive horse. Then I, too, turned and went down in an opposite direction along the Rue St. Martin, smiling to myself at the little scene I had witnessed, and my spirits rising at every step I took, for I felt each moment was bringing me nearer the time when I should be able to effect Claude's freedom, and balance my account with Adam de Gomeron. At last I saw the spire of St. Jacques de la Boucherie to my right, and a few steps more brought me to the bridge of Notre Dame. The passage was, however, closed, and, turning to the west, I kept along the river face and made for the Pont du Change, hoping that this bridge would be open, else I should perforce be compelled to swim the Seine once more, as no boats were allowed to ply during the night. Here, however, I was not disappointed, and threading my way through the crowd that still lingered round the money-changers' stalls, I soon found myself in the Barillierie, and hastening past Sainte Chapelle to the Rue des Deux Mondes. I had determined in the first instance to seek out de Belin, but thought better of that as I went along the Rue St. Martin, when I considered how unlikely I was to find my friend at home, whereas, on the other hand, the notary and his wife were sure to be in their house; and it moreover struck me as being the safest plan to go straight there until I could communicate with de Belin. For if I should be suspected of making away with Madame, no one would think me fool enough to come back to my lodging, which was well known, no doubt, and where I could be trapped at once.

At last I was once again in the Rue des Deux Mondes, very footsore and weary, but kept up by the thought of what I had before me, and ready to drop dead before I should yield to fatigue. There was no one in the street, and, seizing the huge knocker, I hammered at the door in a manner loud enough to waken the dead. It had the effect of arousing one or two of the inhabitants of the adjoining houses, who opened their windows and peered out into the night, and then shut them again hastily, for the wind blew chill across the Passeur aux Vaches. There was no answer to my knock, and then I again beat furiously at the door, with a little sinking of my heart as it came to me that perhaps some harm had befallen these good people. This time, however, I heard a noise within, and presently Pantin's voice, inquiring in angry accents who it was that disturbed the rest of honest people at so late an hour.

'Open, Pantin,' I shouted; 'it is I – do you not know me?'

Then I heard another voice, and a sudden joy went through me, for it was that of my trusty Jacques.

'Grand Dieu! It is the Chevalier! Open the door quick, man!'

It was done in a trice, and as I stepped in Pantin closed it again rapidly, whilst Jacques seized my hand in his, and then, letting it go, gambolled about like a great dog that had just found its master.

I noticed, however, at the first glance I took round, that both Pantin and Jacques were fully dressed, late as it was, and that the notary was very pale, and the hand in which he held a lantern was visibly trembling.

'Monsieur,' he began, and then stopped; but I understood the question in his voice, and answered at once —

'Pantin, I have come back to free her – come back almost from the dead.'

'Then, monsieur, there are those here who can help you still. I had thought you brought the worst news,' and he looked at me where I stood, soiled and wet. 'This way, monsieur le chevalier,' he continued.

'In a moment, Pantin,' cut in dame Annette's voice, and the good woman came up to me with a flagon of warmed wine in her hand.

'Take this first, chevalier, 'tis Maître Pantin's nightcap; but I do not think he will need it this night. God be thanked you have come back safe.'

I wrung her hand, and drained the wine at a draught, and then, with Pantin ahead holding his lantern aloft, we ascended the stair that led to my apartments. As we went up I asked Jacques —

'Did you manage the business?'

'Yes, monsieur, and Marie and her father are both safe at Auriac. I rode back almost without drawing rein, and reached here but this afternoon; and then, monsieur, I heard what had happened, and gave you up for lost.'

At this juncture we reached the small landing near the sitting-room I had occupied, and Pantin without further ceremony flung open the door, and announced me by name. I stepped in with some surprise, the others crowding after me, and at the first glance recognised, to my astonishment, de Belin, who had half risen from his seat, his hand on his sword-hilt, as the door was flung open; and in the other figure, seated in an armchair, and staring moodily into the fire, saw Palin, who, however, made no movement beyond turning his head and looking coldly at me. Not so Belin, for he sprang forwards to meet me in his impulsive way, calling out —

'Arnidieu! You are back! Palin, take heart, man! He would never have come back alone.'

The last words hit me like a blow, and my confusion was increased by the demeanour of Palin, who gave no sign of recognition; and there I stood in the midst of them, fumbling with the hilt of my sword, and facing the still, motionless figure before me, the light of the candles falling on the stern, drawn features of the Huguenot.

My forehead grew hot with shame and anger, as I looked from one to another, and then, like a criminal before a judge, I faced the old man and told him exactly what had happened – all except one thing; that I kept back. At the mention of Ravaillac's name, and of his identity with the Capuchin, the Vicompte de Belin swore bitterly under his moustache; and but for that exclamation my story was heard in stillness to its bitter end. For a moment one might have heard a pin fall, and then Palin said, 'And you left her – there!' The dry contempt of his manner stung me; but I could say nothing, save mutter —

'I did what I could.'

'The one ewe-lamb of the fold – the last and the best beloved,' he said, as if speaking to himself; and then in a sudden fury he sprang to his feet. 'But why do we stand prating here? There are five of us, and we know where she is – come.'

But Belin put his hand on his shoulder. 'Patience, Maître Palin – patience.'

'I have had enough of patience and enough of trusting others,' and the Huguenot shook off his hand and looked at me with a scowl. 'Come, Monsieur d'Auriac; if you would make amends, lead me to this Toison d'Or and we will see what an old arm can do.'

'I am ready,' I answered.

But Belin again interfered.

'Messieurs, this is madness. From what I have gathered d'Auriac will prove but a blind guide back. We are not, moreover, sure that Madame is there. Sit still here, you Palin; neither you nor d'Auriac are fit to think. Fore Gad! it was lucky I thought of this for our meeting-place tonight, Palin. Sit still and let me think.'

'I can think well enough,' I cut in, 'and I have my plan; but I should like to ask a question or two before I speak.'

'And these questions are?'

'I presume I am suspected of this abduction?'

'And of more. Nom de dieu! Man! your mare was found dead, and beside her one of the Marshal's guards, run through the heart,' answered de Belin.

'Then of course if I am seen I am in danger?'

'A miracle only could save you. The King is enraged beyond measure, and swears he will let the Edict go in its full force against you. The Camarguer has made a fine story of it, saying how he tried to stop the abduction, but failed in the attempt.'

'In short, then, it would ruin all chances if we adopt Maître Palin's suggestion?'

'You are saving me the trouble of thinking.'

'Again,' I went on, 'it is not certain if Madame is still at the Toison d'Or, and apart from that I doubt if I could find my way back there to-night, unless anyone could guide me,' and I looked at the Pantins, who shook their heads sorrowfully.

'This settles our going out to-night,' I went on; 'there is but one thing to do to-morrow – to find the house. It will be easy to discover if Madame is within. After that I propose a rescue by the ordinary means of the law.'

'Would it not be as simple to have recourse to Villeroi the first thing to-morrow?' asked Belin.

'Simple enough; but the law has its delays, and if once the house is raided and Madame is not there we may whistle for our prize.'

'But the wheel?' put in Pantin.

'Will break Babette, who will not know. M. de Gomeron is no fool to trust her more than the length of his hand. No – I will leave nothing to chance. I propose then to seek out the house tomorrow, with Pantin's help, if he will give it.'

'Most willingly,' put in the notary.

'Thanks, my good friend. That we will find it I am certain, and then we can act. In the meantime I must ask you by all means in your power to get the search of the law after me delayed.'

'Then M. de Villeroi must hear some certain news to-morrow,' said Annette.

'There speaks a woman's wit,' exclaimed Belin; 'well, after all, perhaps your plan is the best.'

'And in this search of to-morrow I will share,' Palin suddenly exclaimed. But my heart was sore against him for what he had said.

'Pardon me, Maître Palin; this is my right – I do this alone.'

'Your right,' he sneered.

'Yes, Maître Palin, my right; I go to rescue my promised wife.'

'And besides, Monsieur le Chevalier will want no help, for I am here,' Jacques must needs thrust in; 'and when Monsieur is married,' he blundered on, 'we will rebuild Auriac, mount a brace of bombards on the keep, and erect a new gallows for ill-doers.'

'Silence, sir!' I thundered, half beside myself at the idiot's folly, for I saw the gleam in the eyes of Pantin and his wife, and despite the gravity of the occasion de Belin had hard to do to repress an open laugh.

As for Palin, he said nothing for a moment, his features twitching nervously. At last he turned to me, 'It is what I have hoped and prayed for,' he said, holding out his hand; 'forgive me – I take back the words so hastily spoken – it is an old man who seeks your pardon.'

I took his hand in all frankness, and he embraced me as a son, and then in a while Belin said —

'We must be up and doing early to-morrow, and d'Auriac is in need of rest. He will share my bed here to-night; and harkee, Pantin! rouse us with the dawn.'

We then parted, the Pantins showing the Huguenot to his chamber, and Jacques but waiting for a moment or so to help me off with my dripping things. My valises were still lying in the room, and I was thus enabled to get the change of apparel I so much needed.

When at last we were abed I found it impossible to sleep, and Belin was at first equally wakeful. For this I was thankful, as I began to grow despondent, and felt that after all I had lost the game utterly. But the Vicompte's courage never faltered, and in spite of myself I began to be cheered by his hopefulness. He explained to me fully how it came that he was at the Rue des Deux Mondes. He wished to discuss with Palin some means for discovering me, and as the Huguenot, fearing to return to the Rue Varenne after what had happened, and yet was unwilling to leave Paris, had sought Pantin's home, de Belin had determined to pass the night here to consult with him, giving out to his people that he had gone on a business to Monceaux.

'I will see Sully the first thing to-morrow,' he said, as we discussed our plans, 'and if I mistake not it is more than Madame we will find at the Toison d'Or. Be of good cheer, d'Auriac, your lady will come to no harm. The Camarguer is playing too great a game to kill a goose that is likely to lay him golden eggs. I'm afraid though he has spoilt a greater game for his master.'

'How do you mean?' I asked, interested in spite of myself.

'Only this, that unless you are extremely unfortunate I regard the rescue of Madame de Bidache as certain. I am as certain that this will lead to the arrest of de Gomeron and his confederates. They will taste the wheel, and that makes loose tongues, and it may lead to details concerning M. de Biron that we sadly need.'

'It seems to me that the wheel is perilously near to me as well.'

'There is the Edict, of course,' said de Belin, 'but Madame's evidence will absolve you, and we can arrange that you are not put to the question at once.'

The cool way in which he said this would have moved me to furious anger against him did I not know him to be so true a friend. As it was I said sharply —

'Thank you, I will take care that the wheel does not touch me.'

'Very well,' he answered; 'and now I shall sleep; good night.'

He turned on his side and seemed to drop off at once, and as I lay through the weary hours of that night I sometimes used to turn to the still figure at my side with envy at the peace of his slumber.