Presently Francois said something in a low whisper to his companion, and the dwarf in a sort of hoarse scream cried, "Be still. It must be now, I tell you; it was all arranged this afternoon."

After this neither of them spoke, but both stood still and motionless, till suddenly there came to our ears the sounds of hurrying footsteps in the street. It was a relief to hear them, even if the runner had nothing to do with me. They came nearer and nearer; the pace slackened; finally some one stopped beneath the window. Evidently this was the man for whom my captors watched. What news did he bring? Pillot himself could not have waited more anxiously than I did to hear the tidings. I felt sure that in some mysterious way my fate hinged on the words of this unknown messenger.

Very quietly I raised my head from the straw and listened with strained ears. No sound save the heavy breathing of its occupants broke the stillness of the room. At last I seemed likely to hear something which would afford a clue to the mystery; but here again I met with disappointment. Only one word came from the man in the street, and I was scarcely wiser than before.

"Failed!" he said, and immediately began to whistle the air of a popular song, which probably conveyed some information to the dwarf.

Muttering savagely, Pillot ordered the messenger to bring the carriage round, and, turning to me, said more calmly, "Monsieur, the plot has miscarried, and you must leave Paris. I cannot explain further, but you have no choice. Come with me quietly, or——" and he raised his pistol.

My head began to swim again. The plot had failed! What plot? What had I to do with it? Why should these people wish to carry me off? Afterwards, when the truth came out, the affair seemed simple, so simple, that I was ready to laugh at my own stupidity. I tried to obtain some information, but Pillot stopped me promptly. I had never seen him so thoroughly roused; he dug his nails viciously into the palms of his hands; his eyes looked like those of a hunted animal.

"Quick! There is no time to argue. It is a case of life and death for you and me, and perhaps for many besides. I wish you no harm, monsieur! I will save your life if you will let me."

"Set me free," said I, "and I will save my own."

"I cannot do that—for the sake of others."

Francois had disappeared, but Pierre was in the room, and he toyed nervously with his club. I do not know how the dwarf would have acted, but there was no mistaking his companion's purpose.

"An end to this," he exclaimed. "Come, monsieur—or stay!" and he flourished his huge weapon threateningly.

"It is best, monsieur; it is really best," cried the dwarf. "Ah, corbleu, it is too late! Listen! There are the soldiers! Oh, monsieur, what can I do?"

"Bah!" said Pierre, raising his club, "it is his life or ours."

At that moment Francois, whose face was livid with fear and passion, burst into the room.

"Fly!" cried he, "fly, while you have the chance!"

"Is it the soldiers?" asked Pillot.

"No, worse! Conde's ragamuffins, and they are yelling for M. de Lalande."

At these words I was speechless with amazement, but Pillot cried, "The people? Conde's mob, did you say, Francois? Then there has been treachery. This is Peleton's work; he wishes to find revenge and safety at one time. Unbind the prisoner, Pierre. Quick, you dolt! I am no murderer, as M. Peleton will find. Monsieur, I give you a chance of your life let what will come of it. Francois, a sword! Here, monsieur, this way, and the saints preserve us!"

I was free and armed: the door was open; yet I had never stood so near death since my first coming to Paris. From the terrible uproar one would have concluded that the inhabitants of every alley in the city had gathered outside. The street door was being smashed by heavy blows, and, as I ran out on the landing, a fierce mob swarmed up the stairs, screaming, yelling, and shouting for De Lalande.

There was no time to ask questions or even to think. Carried away by passion, the people were thirsting for my blood, though why, I could not imagine. Was this a part of the plot too? What did it all mean? No one had ever called me a coward, but at that moment my limbs trembled, and perspiration oozed from every pore. The cries of the mob were more awful than the roar of some savage beast.

"Quick!" cried Pillot, "it is an affair of seconds," and then every sound was drowned in a fierce shout of "Where is he? Death to the assassin! Kill them all!"

"No, no," exclaimed one voice, louder than the rest, "the others may be honest folk! Only one came in. I saw him! I shall know him! You can tell him by his gay dress!"

"That is Peleton, the scoundrel!" said Pillot "If you are killed now, he will be safe," and the dwarf hurried me along.

With bull-dog courage Pierre and Francois stood at the head of the stairs, demanding to know why their house was invaded, and denying that any one had recently entered.

"A lie! A lie!" shouted Peleton from lower down. "I chased him all the way, and saw him enter here!"

"Stand aside," commanded a second man, "and let us search the house, or it will be the worse for you!"

Pierre and Francois were both sturdy fellows, but they could not have held the stairway long, and besides, why should they sacrifice their lives for me?

From where we were the mob was out of sight, and we could not perceive what was going on, but it seemed as if they hesitated, when suddenly the cry of "The soldiers" was raised. Then, making his final effort, Peleton urged the mob on with renewed shouts of "Kill the assassin!"

At the end of the passage three steps led down to a room, the door of which was locked, but Pillot possessed the key. We could hear the crowd rushing up the stairs and on to the landing; another moment and we should be too late, but my companion, who had recovered from his nervousness, succeeded in opening the door.

"The window!" he exclaimed, pushing me forward. "Quick! I will put up the bars and follow."



CHAPTER XVI.

I become a Prisoner of the Bastille.

I ran across the room and then stopped suddenly: it was a cowardly action to leave the man to face my enemies alone!

"Fly, monsieur, fly!" he implored.

"Not I, Pillot, until we can go together. You have stood by me, I will stand by you. The bars are up? Good! That will delay them a moment. Can we move this chest? Take one end and we will try. Ma foi! 'twill be quite a war of the barricades! Now this table. 'Tis heavy! So much the better. Here they come!"

With a roar the mob swept along the landing. Our door, which was strong and massive, withstood for a time their heaviest blows.

"Now, monsieur, the window!" cried Pillot; "the barricade will soon be down. This way. Peste!" and he uttered a groan.

In the excitement he had forgotten, and I had not noticed, that the window was barred.

"We have trapped ourselves, M. de Lalande!" he exclaimed bitterly. "There is no way out!"

"Chut! The bars will break," said I, clambering to the ledge, and grasping the middle one; but it was very thick and firmly fixed.

The roar of the mob outside doubled my energy; I pulled and tugged with all my might, skinning my hands in the effort. Hammer, bang, crash! behind me. How long would our defences stand? Would the soldiers arrive in time? Would the bar never loosen? Surely it was giving! Yes! I could have shouted aloud in triumph—it was yielding! Another wrench would be sufficient! Oh, for the strength of twenty men! Now!

A yell of joy and a groan of despair announced that I was too late. The door was down, the table overturned, the room was filled with the howling mob. They were headed by two men, one dressed as a charcoal-burner, the other as a mason. Each, however, carried a good sword, and in spite of their disguises I recognised them as Maubranne and Peleton.

"There he is!" cried the baron pointing to me, and again the appalling shouts of "Kill the assassin!" were raised.

For these poor deluded people, led away by such scoundrels, I felt only a deep pity, but my anger rose hot against Maubranne and Peleton. Why did they call me assassin? Why endeavour to take my life and to blacken my good name at the same time?

At the last pinch Peleton hung behind, but the baron, who did not lack courage, advanced, and the mob followed with a hideous roar. Do not imagine that I wish to set myself up for a hero. At that terrible moment I had no thought of anything, and what I did was done almost unconsciously.

Maubranne came first, while behind him waved a forest of clubs and staves. I saw in his eyes that he intended to kill me, and, rendered desperate by fear, I leaped at him, plunging my sword into his breast. He dropped heavily, and for the moment an intense hush fell on the startled crowd. As if by inspiration I saw my one chance and seized it eagerly.

"Citizens!" I cried, gazing boldly on the sea of angry faces, "that man lied to you. He is no charcoal-burner, but the Baron Maubranne, Conde's bitterest enemy. I am ignorant of what has happened in Paris. Two nights ago this Maubranne set a trap for me and shut me up here."

"That is true," exclaimed Pillot. "Maubranne was the plotter, this lad is innocent; he does not even guess why you wish to kill him!"

Would they believe? Was it possible? My heart almost ceased beating as I gazed at the fierce faces. The weapons were lowered. Staring at each other dubiously, the men hesitated, and I breathed more freely. I had forgotten Peleton, who, safe behind the human screen, cried savagely, "Kill the murderer! Down with the assassin!"

That served his purpose better than the finest argument. Heated by passion the people thought no more of the dead charcoal-burner but only of his slayer, and made a movement to surround me. My last hope had failed, but I stood on guard, my one regret being that the cowardly Peleton would not trust himself within reach of my sword.

Now, however, another sound mingled with the shouts of the populace, and a swift glance showed that the soldiers were forcing a passage into the crowded room.

"Make way there!" exclaimed the leader in a tone of authority. "In the King's name! Drop that pike, you rascal, or I'll run you through. Where is this M. de Lalande?"

At first it appeared certain that there would be a terrible conflict between the mob and the soldiers, but the officer, by a lucky hit, not only saved my life—at least for the time—but cajoled the crowd into good humour.

"Is this the fellow who slew Conde?" he asked, to which came an answering chorus of "Yes, yes! Down with the murderer!"

Until that moment I had no idea what my supposed crime was, and the officer's question filled me with horror. Conde dead! and I charged with murder! It seemed monstrous, impossible. But the officer was speaking, and I must try to understand.

"Do you want all who were in the plot punished?" and again there broke out an assenting yell.

"Then let me remove this lad, you imbeciles! If you knock him on the head now, it will be all over: while, if he is imprisoned, the authorities will soon discover his accomplices."

This suggestion met with a torrent of applause, and the ruffians offered no further resistance to the soldiers, who, forming in a body, marched me downstairs into the court where they had left their horses. I was immediately placed on one and firmly bound; the troopers mounted, the officer issued his orders, and we set off accompanied by the mob.

The city was in a state of seething excitement, which increased wherever our procession came in view. The people, pouring from the houses in thousands, blocked the roads until they became almost impassable, and the leader of the horsemen was in despair. Every one wished to see the wretch who had murdered Conde, and numbers shook their fists at me and cried, "Kill the assassin!"

Some, however, regarded me as a martyr, and angry cries against the soldiers, mingled with shouts of "Down with Conde!" began to be heard. At one spot in particular a determined rush was made by a number of burly ruffians directed by a little man from the window of a corner house. I recognised my late gaoler, Pillot, and was glad that he had escaped, though much afraid that his attempted rescue would only make the authorities more certain of my guilt.

Two or three soldiers were knocked over, but the rush was stayed, and after this the friends of De Retz, for such I concluded them to be, confined their attention chiefly to threats. Still the danger of an outbreak was considerable, and the officer in charge, fearful of the consequences, decided to convey me to the Bastille.

By riding through the less frequented streets, and breaking into a trot wherever such a course was possible, we gradually drew ahead of our undesirable escort, and at length turned into the famous avenue. Throughout the journey I had anxiously scanned the faces of the multitude, hoping to see Raoul, or D'Arcy, or my English friend, John Humphreys. But I had not recognised a single acquaintance, and now my heart sank as we halted before the first massive gate, guarded by sentries.

As soon as the drawbridge was lowered, we crossed to the court where the Governor's house was situated, and the officer, dismounting, entered, reappearing in a few minutes with the order for my admission into the fortress. Escorted by two prison officials, I walked up the narrow avenue to the second drawbridge, passed the guard-house, and stood in the wide court, while the ponderous gates clanged behind me, as if shutting out all hope.

"La Calotte de la Baziniere," said one, and the other, bidding me follow, ascended to the highest storey of the nearest tower, and unlocked the door of a room into which I entered—a prisoner of the Bastille!

The turnkey swung his lantern around, hoped—rather sarcastically to my thinking—that I should be comfortable, relocked the door, then the outer door, and I was left, not simply alone and in darkness, but beyond the reach of human hearing. Stumbling across the room, I lay down on a mattress and endeavoured to account for the events of the last two days.

From a few words let fall by the officer, it appeared that some one had killed, or attempted to kill, the prince, and I had been arrested as the assassin. That the plot was hatched by the Abbe's party I had learned from Pillot, though, as it afterwards appeared, no one intended anything more serious than kidnapping Conde and shutting him up in a safe place.

Now, in an enterprise of this daring nature, the actual leader was likely to be my cousin Henri, and working from this I began to piece together a very tolerable story, which after events proved not to have been far wrong. My previous adventures had proved how easy it was to mistake me for my cousin, and on this point the conspiracy hinged. If the plot succeeded, well and good; if not, it was necessary to show that the Abbe's party had nothing to do with the affair.

I was well known as a devoted Masarin, and it was no secret that the Cardinal, though banished, still communicated with his friends in the capital. What more likely then, than that the attempt on Conde's life was made by Masarins? And if so, who more likely to lead it than the penniless youth who had refused point-blank to join any of the other parties? Mazarin, it would be asserted, must have left me in Paris for this very purpose.

Then again the crafty plotters had so arranged that everything would fit neatly into place. It could easily be proved that I had suddenly disappeared and remained in hiding till the appointed night, when, having failed in my object, I had hurriedly and secretly left the city. This, I concluded, was the outline of the plot, but De Retz and my cousin had not made allowance for the cowardly treachery of Maubranne and Peleton.

These worthies, by both of whom I had the honour of being much hated, had worked out a different, and to them, a much more satisfactory ending. If Conde's assassin could be caught, red-handed as it were, and slain by the angry people, there would be an end to the business. For this purpose they had conducted the mob to my prison, but the speedy arrival of the soldiers had upset their plans; Maubranne was dead, and I lay on a mattress in La Calotte de la Baziniere.

"Peste!" I exclaimed irritably, "I have intrigued myself into an ugly mess. This comes of being too clever. What will they do with me, I wonder?"

The situation was indeed serious. With the exception of Raoul, D'Arcy, and John Humphreys, I had no friends, and these three could do little. De Retz would naturally use all his powerful influence to prove my guilt, and as likely as not I should be condemned without a trial. As far as I could judge the future did not look particularly bright.

As soon as dawn came straggling through the window I rose and peered about me. The room arched to support the roof, and only in the middle was it possible to stand upright. It contained but one window, having, both outside and inside, double iron gratings. The furniture consisted of a worm-eaten chair, a table with a leg broken, an empty jug, a mattress, and two flagstones on which in cold weather a fire could be built.

Raoul once told me of a man who had escaped from the Bastille, but I fancy he could not have been lodged in my cell. I could tell by the window that the walls were tremendously thick, while the door was of iron, and fastened on the outside by massive bolts. Still I was not altogether discouraged, and, dragging the table beneath the aperture, I climbed to the top. Crash! I had forgotten the broken leg, and fell to the ground, wrecking the table and giving myself a considerable shock.

After that I lay down again on the mattress till about nine o'clock, as near as I could judge, when there was a noise outside as of bolts being withdrawn, and the turnkey entered the room with my breakfast. He was a short, sturdy man, somewhat after the build of Pierre, but with a more intelligent face.

"Monsieur has met with an accident?" he said, gazing with a grin at the ruined table.

"I knocked the wretched thing over."

"Ah, it was not meant for monsieur's weight," he laughed, and putting the breakfast on the ground, contrived to prop the table up.

"There," he exclaimed triumphantly, "now it will serve, but I would advise monsieur not to place it in a draught, it may catch cold."

Guessing that he understood what had happened, I said, "I wished to get a view of the scenery; there is little to look at inside. The Bastille, or at least the prisoner's part of it, is not pretty."

"It is strong, monsieur, and one cannot have everything. Has monsieur learned that the prince was not hurt."

"No," I cried briskly, "tell me all about it."

"There is not much to tell beyond the fact that monsieur missed his aim."

"What! Do you really believe it was I who shot at Conde?"

"Monsieur is certainly very young for such a deed," he replied, shaking his head solemnly, and with this evasive answer he took his departure, bolting and barring the door behind him.

In the evening he returned, but this time I had no word with him, as he was accompanied by the officer of the rounds and several soldiers. The officer gave me a casual glance, searched the cell carefully—though what he expected to find I cannot imagine—shrugged his shoulders, ordered the turnkey to fasten the door, and presently I heard the tramp of their feet along the corridor.

Several weary days dragged by in this manner. The turnkey regularly brought my meals, and sometimes in the morning stayed for a few minutes' gossip, but with this exception I was left alone.

One morning, contrary to the usual custom, he was attended by four soldiers, who stood at attention while I ate my breakfast. As soon as the meal was finished, the gaoler directed me to follow him, and, escorted by the soldiers, I descended the massive staircase shut in on each storey by ponderous double doors, crossed the wide court, ascended another staircase, and so into a large room known as the Council Chamber.

Here four men sat at a table, and one—an ugly, weazened fellow dressed as a councillor—ordered me to stand before them. Then the soldiers retired well out of earshot, and the examination began. First of all the councillor asked a number of questions concerning my age, name, family, and estate, one of his colleagues writing down the answers as I gave them. Then followed a long harangue on the infamy of my crime, after which the speaker implored me to make a full confession, and to throw myself on Conde's mercy.

"Not," he exclaimed, "that we require your confession; these proofs are too clear," and, noticing my start of surprise, added coolly, "listen, and then say if I am not right."

Turning the papers slowly over one by one he read the heads of a mass of evidence which his agents had collected, evidence so clear and convincing that, on hearing it, I almost believed myself guilty. It began by describing me as a penniless lad, who, having come to Paris to seek my fortune, had taken service with Mazarin as a secret agent; and all my doings with the Cardinal were carefully noted down.

For this I was prepared, but the next paragraph brought the blood to my face with a rush. It stated that, having discovered Madame Coutance was a friend of Conde, I had struck up an acquaintanceship with her for the purpose of worming out the secrets of his party.

"That is false!" I cried hotly.

"Softly, my friend, softly!" exclaimed the weazened little councillor, "we will hear your remarks at another time and in another place," and he continued calmly with his reading.

The third stage showed how cleverly the conspirators had laid their plans. Numerous witnesses had met me going towards that part of the town where I was afterwards discovered in hiding, and they all affirmed that I acted as if not wishing to be recognised. This, of course, I could not deny, as many people must have noticed me when chasing the crafty Francois.

"We are ready to prove these things against you, monsieur, and more also," said the councillor. "For instance, there are the names of two men who saw you take a prominent part in the attack on the carriage and afterwards run away. Now, will you confess?"

"I am innocent, monsieur."

"What an absurdity! Must we then put you to the question?"

"It is needless, monsieur; I am speaking the truth."

"You are obstinate," he exclaimed, screwing up his little eyes, "but a turn or two on the rack will alter that. Come now, will you deny that you are a spy of Mazarin's?"

"Certainly, monsieur. It is true that I am in the Cardinal's service, but I have heard no word from him since he left Paris."

"Are you acquainted with Madame Coutance?"

"Yes, she is a friend of mine."

"Good! I thought we should arrive at the truth. Now, will you explain how you came to be in the house where the soldiers found you?"

"It is a strange story, monsieur, and says little for my sense, but you shall hear it," and I related how cunningly Francois had lured me into the arms of his fellow-plotters.

"Pah!" exclaimed the councillor, wrinkling up his forehead, "that is a child's invention. You cannot expect us to believe such a tale."

"Still it is true, monsieur."

For nearly an hour longer the councillor continued putting all sorts of questions concerning Mazarin's plans, none of which I could answer. My silence made him very angry, and at last he exclaimed in a passion, "Take him away. I warrant we shall soon find a means of loosing his tongue."

The soldiers formed up and I was marched across the courtyard, where several prisoners who were not confined to their cells assembled to watch me pass. I gazed at them eagerly, but they were all strangers who only regarded me as a prisoner in a far worse plight than themselves.

"Courage, monsieur," whispered the gaoler, as the soldiers turned back from my cell, "we all have our misfortunes."

He spoke in a kindly manner and I looked at him gratefully, for a prisoner has but few friends. Then the door clanged, the bolts were pushed home, and I was left alone to reflect on the councillor's last words. I had heard too much not to understand what he meant by finding a way to loose my tongue, and I instantly began to conjure up all kinds of horrible pictures. However, it was useless going to meet trouble, so I endeavoured to banish the subject from my mind, and to think of my friends, Raoul, Marie, and the Englishman, who were doubtless wondering what had become of me.



CHAPTER XVII.

Free!

On the third night after my visit to the Council Chamber I was awakened from a sound sleep by some one shaking my arm. Looking up and rubbing my eyes, I beheld the gaoler with a lantern in his hand bending over me.

"Rise, monsieur, and dress quickly," said he.

"Who wants me at this time of night?" I asked.

"I do not know, monsieur. I have my orders, and the soldiers are waiting at the foot of the stairs. But courage, monsieur!"

The tone in which the man spoke made me shiver. It was plain that he expected the worst, and I immediately remembered the councillor's threats. My heart beat quickly at the thought of the dreaded torture chamber, and my fingers trembled as I fastened my clothes.

"Am I to be put on the rack?" I asked, but the gaoler, shaking his held slowly, replied that he knew nothing.

"An officer of police brought an order signed by the Governor, but he would answer no questions. If it should be so, confess everything, monsieur. You are very young, and the rack—ah!"

"Thanks, my friend, though I am sorry your advice will not help me. I have already told the truth, and they would not believe it."

"Say what they wish, monsieur! Anything to escape the torture! I have been in the chamber once, and it was horrible for a strong man even to look on. And they are sure to get what they want in the end."

"At all events I will bear up as long as I can!"

"It is useless, monsieur, useless, I assure you," said he, as I finished dressing.

We left the room, and, descending the stairway, found the soldiers drawn up at the bottom.

"Albert de Lalande!" exclaimed their officer, and the next minute I was walking in the midst of my escort to the court, where a carriage stood in waiting.

"Enter, monsieur," said the officer, who himself followed, while the troopers mounted their horses.

I leaned my head against the back of the coach in a state of both wonder and relief. Whatever else happened it seemed that I was not to be taken to the torture chamber. The night was dark, but I could tell that we were leaving the Bastille. Where were we going? I addressed myself to the officer, but received only a curt "Silence!" in reply.

Did they intend to execute me without further trial? It might be so—more than one prisoner had been hurried from the Bastille in the darkness for that purpose. Might was right in those days, and justice stood a poor chance of getting itself heard.

I could not discover in what direction we drove, but the journey was long and apparently roundabout, perhaps in order to avoid attention. The officer sat rigidly upright, with his sword drawn, keeping keen watch and ward as if I had been a most desperate criminal. There was, however, small chance of escape, even if I could overpower my guard. The soldiers rode on each side of the coach, and I should have been cut down instantly.

At last the carriage stopped, the officer opened the door and ordered me to descend. We had halted in front of a large building, which at first I failed to recognise. Several armed men stood on the top-most step.

"At least the place isn't a prison!" I concluded, as the officer hurried me to the entrance and along the corridor, while two of the gentlemen in waiting followed close behind.

Nearly at the end, and on our right hand, was a door hung with rich tapestry. Pushing the curtains aside, the officer knocked softly, and then ushered me into a large apartment furnished in the most sumptuous and magnificent manner.

"Albert de Lalande, your Highness!" he announced, and I looked quickly at the man who stood up to receive me.

This, then, must be the renowned Conde who had restored lustre to the French arms, though I held that the country had amply repaid the brilliant soldier for his skill and valour. I was also one of those who believed that winning a battle did not place a man above the laws, nor give him the right to ride rough-shod over his fellows. Still, Conde was a brilliant general, and certainly second to none save Turenne; while there were not wanting numerous flatterers who ranked the prince first.

A thin man of average height it was who stood before me; firmly set, well-proportioned and muscular. The Bourbon type was strongly marked in this member of the family—thick lips, large mouth, high and prominent cheek-bones. He possessed a good brow, betokening intelligence, and sharp, keen, blue eyes that pierced through me.

"Why, monsieur the assassin is scarcely more than a boy!" he exclaimed with a sneering laugh.

"I am old enough not to be frightened, even by Louis de Bourbon!" said I, angry at his taunt.

"Parbleu! These are brave words from a prisoner of the Bastille! The Governor feeds you too well! But come, I have several questions to put. Why did you try to kill me?"

"I did not try, your Highness! At the time of the attack I was a mile away, shut up in a room and well guarded."

"You seem fond of prison," he said, and I felt that he did not believe a word of my story.

"I had no choice in the matter, your Highness."

Conde looked me straight in the face, and I met his gaze without flinching.

"You look like an honest lad," he exclaimed grudgingly, "but the evidence against you is strong. Come, tell me everything, and I will promise you a pardon beforehand. Was it Mazarin who urged you on?"

"I have not heard from the Cardinal for months, monsieur. If the plot was his work, he did not take me into his confidence. But I think, monsieur, that your enemies are nearer home."

"How? No one in Paris but De Retz would plan such a deed."

"The Abbe is a dangerous enemy, your Highness."

"No," said Conde, looking puzzled, "it could not have been De Retz. He and his henchman, De Lalande—your cousin by the way—were with me five minutes after the pistol was fired. I wish you would trust me."

"You will laugh at my suspicions, and the explanation will not benefit me."

"Ma foi! I have learned to consider nothing strange in this citizen squabble. Come, speak as a friend, and I promise on my honour not to repeat your words."

I hardly knew what to do. I had no wish to injure either Henri or Pillot, but on the other hand, my own life was in danger, and finally I resolved to relate the story with as little mention of names as possible.

Conde listened attentively, stopping me now and then to ask some searching question, and evidently considerably puzzled by the whole affair.

"If this be true," said he at last, "it seems that Mazarin had nothing to do with the plot. But there is one point which still requires explanation. If you were not there, how could the mob have followed you to the house?"

"They did not follow me, but were led by two of my enemies."

"Who were they?"

"One was Baron Maubranne dressed as a charcoal-burner, and him I killed."

"Who was the other?"

"M. Peleton, disguised as a mason. He kept out of my way, the coward!"

"Corbleu!" exclaimed Conde, laughing, "that showed his discretion. Now, M. de Lalande, I am going to think over this extraordinary story. Meanwhile you must return to the Bastille. It is not exactly a pleasant residence, but it is above all things safe. True, the Governor will keep out your friends, but I will take care that he does not admit your enemies. By the way, who is this M. Beauchamp of whom you have spoken?"

"An officer in the household of the Duke of Orleans."

"Ah, well, I shall be visiting the Luxembourg in a day or two, and I may meet him."

Summoning the officer, who had remained on guard just inside the door, he directed that I should be driven back to the Bastille without delay; and thus my night adventure ended.

It was early morning when we reached the famous prison, but my gaoler received me with a cheerful smile.

"I hope monsieur's journey has proved a pleasant one," said he, for, of course, he had watched the departure of the carriage.

"It has not been amiss," I answered, "and it may help to prove my innocence. At any rate, it was more agreeable than a visit to the torture chamber," and I began to undress.

The interview with Conde had raised my spirits, and I felt more cheerful than at any time since my arrest. Although doubtful at first, he was evidently impressed by my story, and for his own sake would endeavour to unravel the mystery. I had, however, to exercise considerable patience. Another week passed wearily enough, and during the whole of that time no whisper reached me from the outside world. I was left entirely to my imagination, and even Gaston of Orleans could not have changed his mind as many times as I did during that period.

At one moment I felt sure of freedom; the next I listened to the roar of the hungry mob assembled to witness my execution. I turned hot and cold at every sound; now fancying the gaoler was coming to set me at liberty, again that he was bringing news of my condemnation.

One morning after breakfast I was sitting daydreaming as usual, when the door was opened, and the turnkey requested me to finish dressing and follow him.

"What is it now?" I inquired anxiously.

"An order to attend the Council Chamber, monsieur."

"Am I to receive my freedom?"

"I cannot tell, but there are no soldiers below, which is not a bad sign."

I knew my way by now, and followed my gaoler briskly down the staircase to the chamber. The four councillors were there, standing together, and near them was Conde himself.

"Well, M. de Lalande, did you expect to see me again?" he asked.

"I hoped to do so, your Highness."

"Then you do not fear my discoveries? Well, I have inquired into your story, and am inclined to believe you spoke the truth. For one thing, M. Peleton has disappeared."

"Then he has received a warning, your Highness."

"That is possible, as he may know too much. Still, without his evidence I cannot probe to the bottom of this affair. Now I am going to make you a proposal. If I set you at liberty, will you find this M. Peleton and bring him to me? His arrest is necessary, you understand, in order to clear your own character."

"Then I shall be the more anxious to discover him, your Highness."

"Very well; and remember, it must be done without noise or fuss, by yourself and your friends. If my fresh suspicions are correct, he has powerful patrons whom I have no desire to ruffle for the present. So it must be your private affair, and you take all the risks."

"I will do that willingly."

"So I expected," said he, laughing, and at once directed the weazened councillor to make out my paper of discharge. Having fulfilled certain formalities, I was escorted beyond the five gates and set at liberty.

It was strange what an unfamiliar aspect the streets of the city at first bore. I stood for a time perplexed by the change from the gloomy Bastille, bewildered by the noise of the traffic, and scarcely knowing which direction to take. Wandering on aimlessly, I at length found myself on the Quai Henry IV., and, keeping steadily along past the Hotel de Ville, reached the head of the Pont Neuf. Turning off here, I was soon in the familiar net-work of streets near the Palais Royal, and presently entered the Rue des Catonnes.

My landlord, who would hardly have raised an eyebrow in the midst of an earthquake, made no comment on my long absence, but, merely observing that monsieur would perhaps like something to eat, disappeared.

Going to my room, I removed my sword, which had been returned to me on leaving the Bastille, and sat down. In a short time my worthy host brought some food, for which I was really grateful, and I asked cheerfully if any one had called at the house to inquire for me.

"A soldier of the Queen's Guards who comes every evening, monsieur. He is a foreigner, I think, he speaks French so badly."

"Ah, an Englishman, a fine fellow, and my very good friend."

"There is also a young cavalier who comes from the Luxembourg to inquire if you have returned. He it was who informed me that monsieur had gone into the country."

"And they come every evening?"

"Without fail, monsieur."

"Then be sure to send them up the instant they arrive."

About six o'clock, observing Raoul approach the house, I withdrew quickly from the window, so that he might be taken the more completely by surprise. Suddenly the footsteps ceased, and I heard my friend putting his question to the landlord. The answer was not distinguishable, but it produced a remarkable effect. There was a rush and a clatter on the stairs, the door of my room was opened quickly, and Raoul threw himself into my arms.

"Albert," he cried, "I began to fear we should never see you again. You are too venturesome, my dear fellow. Listen! What is that? Ah! here is your English friend, and mine, too, now. He is a splendid fellow."

"Back again, my friend!" cried John Humphreys, as he entered the room. "You have had a long holiday this time."

"Longer than was agreeable," I answered, laughing, "but sit down and tell me the news; I am dying with curiosity."

"So are we," observed Raoul; "we want to know all that has happened to you."

"Didn't the story get abroad?"

"Only a little. We heard you were suspected of leading the attack on Conde. In fact, there were people who swore they saw you fire, though, naturally, I knew that was rubbish."

"Did you guess the truth?"

"Yes, and told Humphreys here. But I have not cried it from the housetops."

"You were wise; it is an affair that requires delicate handling," and I repeated the story of my adventures, from my disappearance to the moment of my being liberated from the Bastille.

"The plot is no mystery to us," said Raoul thoughtfully, "but it will be difficult to prove. We have not the slightest doubt that your cousin Henri fired the pistol."

"Is he still in Paris?" I asked curiously.

"Yes, and goes about quite openly with De Retz."

"Why doesn't Conde arrest him?" asked Humphreys, who was not in the habit of beating about the bush.

"Henri de Lalande has played his game far too cleverly," laughed Raoul, "you may depend that his share in the plot was known only to himself and De Retz."

"But," said I, "the instructions for trapping me must have been given by him."

"There you are wrong. The man Francois has been examined, and he knows nothing of your cousin. He was employed and paid by Peleton, who was wise enough to mention no names."

"Peleton is an arrant coward, and a traitor to boot."

"Just so," said Raoul, "and were he caught the whole secret would be laid bare. But he has vanished."

"And it is my business to find him; I have promised Conde to do so, though without implicating him, and, besides, I want to clear my own name. Is he likely to have left Paris?"

Raoul went to the door to make sure that no one was listening, and coming back, said quietly, "I will tell you my idea. Everything depends on Peleton, and De Retz is aware that he would betray his dearest friend for a hundred pistoles. Do you follow me?"

"Perfectly," said I impatiently, "go on."

"As soon as Conde got on the right track, Peleton disappeared and has not been seen since. Now if he were a free man, he would long before this have made a bargain with Conde in order to preserve his own skin."

"Do you think——" I began in horror, but Raoul interrupted me, saying, "No, no, not as bad as that. I simply mean they are holding him a prisoner till the affair has blown over. De Retz is making a hard fight with Conde, and if the prince is beaten, why, then Peleton can talk as much as he likes. Of course for your own sake you must try to unearth him, and I will help in the search."

"So will I," exclaimed Humphreys, "though I shall be of little use unless it comes to fighting."

"There may be enough and to spare of that," said Raoul, "if Henri de Lalande is the fellow's gaoler. He may be a rogue, but he is a fearless one."

Raoul's theory was, certainly, mere guess-work, but the more we discussed it the more likely it appeared to be correct. Peleton was a tricky fellow, and I understood my cousin too well to believe that he would allow him to be at large.

"If Peleton's hiding-place is to be discovered we must watch Henri," I suggested at length, and the others agreed.

"There is one thing I can do," remarked Raoul. "The Duke of Orleans has command of the gates, and I can request the officers on duty to watch for Peleton. I shall leave Conde's name out, and make it a personal favour."

"Meanwhile Humphreys and I will take a walk in the neighbourhood of Notre Dame. We may possibly meet Henri on his way to visit the Abbe."

"Don't run too far into danger; the Abbe's parishioners are not the most gentle of citizens."

The Englishman laughed lightly, and tapped his sword as if to say, "This will prevent them from being too saucy."

We went down into the street, and Raoul, promising to return the next evening, departed on his errand, while Humphreys and I turned in the direction of the cathedral. The people, as usual, were in a high state of excitement, but we met with no adventure worth relating, and unfortunately saw nothing of my cousin.

"Never mind," said Humphreys, "the luck doesn't always come at the first throw."

Next morning I paid a hurried visit to the Rue Crillon, where I received a warm greeting from the ladies, who had already heard of my release.

"At first the prince thought you were guilty," exclaimed Madame Coutance. "It was stupid of him, but then, appearances were against you."

"They certainly were," said I, "and even now there are people who imagine I had a share in the plot."

"Not those in high quarters. They know the truth, but cannot prove it. By the way, had you come last night you would have met your cousin."

"It is so long since I saw him that he is quite a stranger. Did he inquire for me?"

"Yes," replied Marie, "and he was delighted to learn that you were free of the Bastille. At least, he said so," and she looked at me with a meaning smile.

It was apparent that both Marie and her aunt guessed the truth, but the subject was a delicate one, and they did not dwell on it; only, as I was leaving, Madame Coutance whispered, "Do not forget that the street as well as the Bastille has its dangers."

"Thank you for the warning," I answered, "but I shall be more wary in future."

The rest of the day I spent in prowling about the city, in asking questions here and there, and in watching sharply for either Pillot or my cousin, but the search proved fruitless, and towards the end of the afternoon I returned to my rooms, jaded and weary.



CHAPTER XVIII.

The Fight on the Staircase.

About seven o'clock in the evening John Humphreys, who was just off duty, joined me, and shortly afterwards Raoul arrived.

"No news?" cried the latter, noticing my gloomy looks. "Well, there is no need to despair. I have so arranged that Peleton will find it difficult to slip through the gates, and I have heard something of your cousin. Young D'Arcy met him last evening in the Rue de Roi."

"Then he has taken up his old quarters in La Boule d'Or and hidden Peleton there!" I exclaimed; but Raoul shook his head.

"Conde's troopers have searched the house by now, and no doubt a watch is set. Still, we might walk that way."

"Have you told Armand the story?"

"Yes, he can be trusted; and he has a host of acquaintances."

"Very well, let us go down to the Rue de Roi;" then, turning to Humphreys, I remarked, "we may have need of our swords to-night."

We had only just turned the corner of the street, when Raoul exclaimed, "Why, there is D'Arcy! Armand, here is an old friend who will be glad to see you."

"De Lalande! So they have let you out of the Bastille? Conde made a mistake. He should have kept you behind the bars till the trouble is at an end. You will soon be running into fresh mischief. Where are you going now?"

"On a voyage of discovery," said Raoul. "Will you come?"

"Gladly! The times are out of joint, and I have nothing to do."

I introduced him to Humphreys, and we went on together to the Rue de Roi. Leaving us at the corner, to watch, Raoul crossed the road and boldly entered the famous inn. The street was crowded with people, and, lest some chance passer-by might recognise me, I muffled my face, and leaned against the wall, while Armand and John Humphreys stood a short distance off.

Raoul was absent a long time, and we began to fidget, but presently he came out and made his way toward us.

"We are on a false scent," he said; "our quarry has not been there, though Henri has. Conde's troopers have searched the house twice in three days, and the landlord is quite indignant. But I believe the rascal knows something about Peleton."

Armand was on the point of answering when I caught sight of a figure which induced me to draw my companions back where they would not be noticed. It was Pillot in a tremendous hurry. He had been running fast: his hair and face were wet with perspiration; he was breathing irregularly, and kept glancing over his shoulder as if expecting to discover an enemy. Stopping outside the inn, he looked anxiously up the street, was apparently reassured, and then darted like an eel up the side entrance.

"The Abbe's man," said D'Arcy; "the poor fellow our friend here half murdered."

Raoul became excited. "A messenger either to or from Henri de Lalande!" he exclaimed, and was about to dart across the road when I pulled him back roughly, saying, "Be still! You will spoil everything. Let us stay here and follow when he returns."

"Good advice!" agreed D'Arcy. "We may learn something. Hola! What an uproar! Something serious the matter one would imagine. Here comes D'Artagnan with his musketeers! The fellow rides as if Paris belongs to him. See how he sweeps the canaille out of his path!"

"The crowd is closing up," said Humphreys, "and the musketeers will have hard work to force a way. Ah! there's one fellow down. D'Artagnan is a fine rider. See how he manages his horse! He would have done good work in our ranks at Naseby. And a sworder, too! There's a stroke!"

"Smother him!" laughed D'Arcy; "we shall have the rabble here in a minute. Be quiet, my dear fellow; I warrant D'Artagnan is no better fencer than yourself."

"Hang D'Artagnan!" cried Raoul excitedly. "Look, there goes the little man."

"And a man in a gray cloak behind him! Is that Peleton?"

"No," said I, "it is my cousin. Quick, let us follow and see where they go."

While the squabble progressed in the narrow street, and the air was filled with threats and cries of terror, while steel rang against steel, and from more than one quarter came the sounds of firing, we ran swiftly in the wake of my cousin and his henchman. Pillot surprised us by the rapidity of his movements. Though so short of stature he ran at a tremendous pace, and had the man in the gray cloak been able to keep pace with him, we must soon have been thrown off. As it was, we kept the second of the fugitives well in view; and so the chase continued almost without a stop, save when Pillot halted from motives of prudence.

The noise of the strife behind us died away; we were in a labyrinth of narrow streets, and had need of caution, though Humphreys suggested overtaking my cousin, and forcing him at the point of the sword to speak.

"No, no," I exclaimed, panting, "that will never do. A fight here would bring the people out in hundreds. Besides, my cousin is no coward, and we should obtain nothing from him by force."

So we ran on, maintaining the interval between us and the gray mantle, till at length Pillot stopped for his master, while Armand d'Arcy, plucking my sleeve, whispered, "Do you know where we are?"

"Yes," I answered quietly, "I recognise the street. Higher up on the other side is the house of Martin the astrologer. We shall discover something now. Unless I am very greatly mistaken we are close to Peleton's hiding-place."

"Your cousin is an artful rascal, Albert. Just notice how unconcernedly he walks along. No one would imagine he was in any danger. Ah! They are crossing the road! Corbleu! you were right—they are going to Martin's."

"Follow me one at a time, and without making a sound," I said, softly. "Keep close to the wall, and well out of sight. What an old fox Martin is! I thought Mazarin had taught him a lesson."

Hiding in a doorway below the astrologer's house we awaited events. It was evident that Pillot had not fetched his master for nothing, and Raoul, who stood next to me, whispered, "They have scented danger of some sort, either to Henri or to Peleton."

"Peleton is shut up in that house somewhere, take my word for it," I answered quietly. "Look!"

Drawing a whistle from beneath his mantle, Henri blew sharply, and almost immediately the window was thrown up. We could not hear the conversation, but presently the man inside closed the window, and a few minutes later the door was opened. Then Henri said something in a whisper to Pillot and entered. The little man waited till his master had disappeared, gave a last glance at the house, and turned, as we supposed, to come down the street.

"Let him pass," whispered Raoul, "then spring on him from behind and clap a mantle over his head. We must not let him call for help."

"Be as gentle as possible; he is a plucky fellow, and I am a long way in his debt. Don't forget that he saved my life."

To our surprise, however, Pillot did not get farther than the next house, when he stopped, and began to unlock the door. This unexpected manoeuvre held us in amazement, but Raoul, who had no intention to be thus baulked of his prey, acted promptly. Bounding from his hiding-place, he reached the door almost at one leap, and his hands closed like a vice round Pillot's neck. The next instant we were all in the passage, and D'Arcy closed the door.

"Now," exclaimed Raoul, loosening his grip, "if you raise your voice you are a dead man. Do you understand?"

"'Tredame!" spluttered the dwarf, rubbing his neck, "monsieur explains himself well. He speaks to the point and leaves no room for mistakes. But perhaps monsieur will tell me the reason for this unexpected visit. My poor house is not often honoured by such company!"

"The wheel has turned again, Pillot; nothing more," I laughed. "We want to see M. Peleton, who is a very dear friend of ours."

"Is it you, monsieur? It would have been better for us had I left you to Maubranne's mercy. As to M. Peleton, how should I know anything of him? He disappeared after that affair with Conde."

"Be sensible, Pillot, the game is against you. We are four; you are one, and in our power. Accept your defeat like a man, and wait till the wheel brings you on top again. Peleton is in this house or the next, and we intend to find him. Come, there is no time to waste."

"Monsieur is so pressing one cannot refuse him," said he, and led the way along the passage, with Raoul's pistol at his head by way of reminder.

"We must have a light," D'Arcy declared; "there is no fun in visiting our friends in the dark."

"There is a lighted candle in the room on our left," remarked Pillot, and, with Raoul still guarding him, he went to fetch it.

We were now at the bottom of the stairs, and I suggested that Armand and Humphreys should stay there as a kind of rear-guard.

"A good plan!" said Raoul. "Should this fellow attempt to escape run your sword through him. Now, my man, lead on, and remember you will pay dearly for mistakes."

I had rarely known my comrade so firm, so energetic and determined: this was a phase of his character not often shown. Pillot shrugged his shoulders carelessly and led the way. Up we went through the silent house, past many empty rooms, till our guide came to a halt on the topmost storey.

"Our dear Peleton likes to be high up," said he with a grin; "it is so quiet and pleasant. By this time most likely he has gone to bed; he keeps good hours. Perhaps monsieur will unlock the door while I hold the candle," and he handed Raoul a key.

Stooping down, my comrade endeavoured to insert the key, but there was evidently something amiss.

"Monsieur has not the knack," said Pillot. "Shall I try?"

"I believe you have given me the wrong key, you rascal."

"Oh, surely not, monsieur! I could not have been so stupid. Let me see it. No, it is the proper key, monsieur. See," and taking the key from Raoul, he asked him to hold the light.

In passing from one to the other the candle by some means dropped to the ground and the light was extinguished, leaving us in darkness.

"Do not move, monsieur; it is close to your foot. Now I have it! Ah, you have kicked it away. What a misfortune!"

We could hear the rascal groping about for a time; then all was still, and he made no reply to our calling. Raoul was furious, and threatened to kill the fellow, when he caught him, a clause very needful to add.

"He has tricked us!" said Raoul, searching for the candle, though with small hope of finding it.

To my astonishment, for I thought Pillot too sharp to leave it behind, the candle lay unbroken not a yard from my feet, and a light soon showed that our guide had disappeared. It was very annoying to be duped in this way, but I could not help laughing at Pillot's craftiness.

"He won't try to get past Armand and Humphreys," said Raoul; "he will hide away in one of the empty rooms."

Suddenly some words spoken by Mazarin months before came into my mind, and I began to rail at my folly.

"Raoul," I cried, "unless we get Peleton out quickly it will be too late. There is a means of communication between the two houses, and Pillot has gone for assistance."

"Peleton isn't likely to be in here," growled Raoul.

"Why not? Pillot would have given you the right key if the room was empty. Anyway we will find out," and taking a run I dashed myself against the door.

Raoul followed, and then we went at it together. Once, twice, thrice. The last time it showed signs of yielding—presently with a crash it burst open.

"Come on," I cried, seizing the candle which I had placed upright against the wall. "Can you see anyone?"

"No," answered Raoul, "but there is a bed in the corner. Bring the candle."

We ran across the room quickly, and there, fully dressed, but with his arms bound, lay Peleton. His face was ghastly white, and he shook with fear.

"Get up," I cried sharply—there was no leisure for ceremony—"do you hear?"

"What do you want with me?" he whined, for, with all his bluster, the fellow had no more pluck than a pigeon.

"To carry you to Conde—dead or alive—you can take your choice. If you listen to my advice, you will come peaceably. I will go first, Raoul; you come behind and keep a sharp eye on our friend."

"And I will use a sharp sword if he doesn't mind himself," said Raoul.

Now I shall always believe that as soon as his first fright had passed, Peleton was rather pleased than otherwise to accompany us. His information would be worth much to Conde, and I have no doubt he expected to drive a very good bargain. He did not attempt the least resistance, nor did he endeavour to lag behind as I hurried him from the room.

We had reached the head of the stairs when I drew a sharp breath, and Raoul uttered a cry of anger. The scene was lit up by the flare of torches, and Pillot's shrill laugh came floating up to us. At the same moment we heard Henri's mocking voice, and there, sword in hand, stood my cousin, barring our path. Below him were several brawny ruffians, bearing pikes and clubs, and, last of all, Pillot, who shouted with good-humoured banter, "Aha! the wheel has turned again, monsieur!"

Henri affected to treat the matter as a joke, saying, "Chut! Albert, did you not know Peleton was my guest? I cannot allow him to leave at this hour! The night air is not good for him. Return to your room, M. Peleton, my cousin will accept your excuses."

"A truce to this farce," I cried. "Will you let us pass peacefully?"

"Certainly. You can come down, but I cannot part with M. Peleton just yet. I enjoy his society too much."

"We shall not leave without Peleton," I cried.

"Then you will not go at all. I am sorry, there is no help for it."

He kept his temper admirably, but none the less I felt that if we were to get past, it would be by force of arms, so, raising my voice, I called to Armand and Humphreys who were still keeping guard at the foot of the stairs. In an instant they came bounding up, and Henri, polite to the last, exclaimed, "As you will, cousin, but remember I am not to blame."

The next instant we were in the thick of the fight. By the accident of position Raoul was opposed to Henri; Pillot, with three companions, disputed the way with our friends below, while three others rushed fiercely at me. One, advancing too hurriedly, ran himself on the point of my sword, but the others pressed their assault so savagely that I had much ado to preserve my head from being battered in.

Once during the melee my foot slipped, and I was brought to my knees. A short, thick-set man, whom I dimly recognised as Pierre, stood over me with his club raised for striking. I saw him swing the weapon round so as to deliver a sturdier blow, when, with a howl of pain he let the club fall.

"Jump up, De Lalande! Where's our man? Ah, there he is! Get him between us and we will make a rush for it."

The speaker was John Humphreys, who had gallantly fought his way to my side, and was now keeping a clear space with his sword. Peleton stood just above us, shivering with fear, and I must admit that his position was far from pleasant. His arms were still bound, so that he could not ward off a blow, and one brawny ruffian was making desperate efforts to reach him.

Suddenly there arose a terrible cry, sending a thrill of fear to our hearts. The staircase was on fire! Armand called to us to descend quickly; Pillot screamed to his master. My assailants, thoroughly cowed, beat a hasty retreat, Raoul and Henri alone, undisturbed by the cries, continued the deadly fight.

"Run, Humphreys," I cried, "and do not let this fellow slip away when he reaches the bottom."

The Englishman nodded, and dashed off, while I turned to Peleton.

"Come," I said, "or you will be burned to death," but he stood like a statue. He seemed numbed by fear and unable to move a step, until I shook him roughly. Then he roused himself and let me lead him.

As we came abreast of my cousin, I saw him fall, wounded, but could not go to his help. Peleton's nerves had broken down, and without me to lean on he must have stumbled. The flames took a firmer hold, the heat became intense, the smoke was suffocating. I called Raoul by name; he answered cheerily, bidding me not to lose Peleton.

One man, quickly followed by a second, sprang past me and hurried to the top of the staircase. It was Pillot with a trusty comrade, and the dwarf, recognising me, shouted some directions, which, unfortunately, I failed to understand. The smoke filled my nostrils, I began to suffocate, but staggered on blindly, dragging Peleton with me. Below us the stairs had begun to burn—soon they would fall with a crash.

And where was Raoul? Why was my gallant friend not by my side? Had Pillot slain his master's enemy in the confusion? I endeavoured to call again, but only a dull, choking sound came from my throat. The horror of the situation gave me superhuman strength. I dragged Peleton from step to step, caring nothing for smoke or flames; if the fire scorched my feet I felt no pain.

Suddenly two figures sprang toward me; they were Armand and John Humphreys, and together we hurried Peleton into one of the lower rooms which the flames had not reached.

"Attend to him," I cried, "don't let him escape," and ran swiftly to the staircase, but Armand was as quick as I, and as I mounted the first step he pulled me back.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, and his tone was stern and peremptory.

"To seek for Raoul. Quick, let me go, or I shall be too late."

In reply he tightened his hold on my arm, exclaiming, "It is utterly useless, Albert, the staircase will be down in a few seconds, you will only throw your life away."

I begged and prayed him to release me, but he clung the more strenuously for my appeals, till at last I struggled like a madman to get loose. The steadfast fellow, however, kept his grip, and I could not fling him off.

In the very midst of the struggle came the sound of a terrific crash, and a broad tongue of flame leaped up to the roof of the building. Then Armand freed my arms; against my will he had saved me from a terrible death—the staircase had fallen in bodily.

"Poor Raoul!" exclaimed my companion sorrowfully, but the lump in my throat prevented me from making any reply. I could only stand and stare at the burning debris which formed the funeral pile of my gallant comrade.



CHAPTER XIX.

I Lose all Trace of Henri.

By this time the flames had attracted a number of people, who ran from all directions to gaze at the spectacle. Armand brought me back to my senses by saying, "We must make sure of Peleton, Albert, or he will escape."

"Humphreys will guard him while you fetch a coach," I said, "then drive him straight to Conde."

"And you?"

"I shall stay here till—till——"

"I understand. We will escort this fellow to the Hotel de Conde, and then return."

My passion had exhausted itself by now; I could only stand bewailing the loss of my trusty friend. Meanwhile the crowd increased; soldiers appeared on the scene; men dashed buckets of water on the fire; some seized burning pieces of wood and flung them into the street where they could do no more mischief.

I toiled with the rest, and gradually we got the flames under, but there was no sign of Raoul's body. One man we found was quite dead, and no one recognised him. What had become of the others? Some had dashed down the stairway in front of me, but I had left Raoul and Henri, Pillot and his companion, nearly at the top. Where were they, if not buried beneath the smouldering debris of the fallen staircase?

Presently a roar of excitement came from the people behind me, and glancing towards the astrologer's house I beheld a man, hatless, bleeding, and scorched by the hungry flames, rush into the street.

A hubbub of voices at once arose.

"Bravo, monsieur!"

"That's one who was in the house!"

"He has saved one man's life!"

"See, his face is cut!"

At sight of him my heart for a moment stood still; then I called aloud "Raoul!" and, scattering the people right and left, ran, frantic with joy, toward the friend I had never again expected to meet alive.

"Raoul!" I cried, "Raoul! Where have you been? I thought you were in the burning house!"

"There was your cousin to save," he answered simply, flushing like a girl.

"You risked your life to save his?"

"Pshaw! I could not leave him to die like a rat. Then Pillot came with one of his fellows and we carried him through the secret passage into the next house."

"Is he seriously hurt?"

"I am afraid so; though Pillot calls his wound a scratch. But what of Peleton? Has he escaped?"

"No! He is safe in the Hotel de Conde by now. D'Arcy and Humphreys took him there in a coach. But come, let us get away from this crowd, and visit the surgeon in the Rue Pierre. It is quite time your wounds were attended to."

"It is scarcely worth the trouble; I can have that done at the Luxembourg."

However, I managed to persuade him, and the surgeon, a man whom I had met more than once at the Palais Royal, bathed his wounds, applied some ointment, and lent him a hat. He was a wise man and asked no questions, though no doubt he learned in the morning all that he wished to know.

Leaving the house we walked to the end of the street, when Raoul stopped, saying, "You had better not go any farther with me; Conde will be expecting you."

"To-morrow will do," I replied, and we were still discussing the point when Armand and the Englishman suddenly made their appearance.

I need not describe their joyful surprise on perceiving Raoul, whom both believed to be dead. John Humphreys did not make a great display of his feelings—he rarely did—but Armand clapped Raoul on the shoulder and executed a lively dance.

"Where is Peleton?" I asked, when he had sobered down.

"In the Bastille by now, I expect. Conde is delighted; he will learn all about the plot within twenty-four hours. I never saw such a coward as Peleton!"

"The fellow isn't worth powder!" exclaimed Humphreys in disgust.

"Anyhow there is an end to De Retz's scheming," I remarked cheerfully, but Raoul shook his head.

"The Abbe can take care of himself," said he; "you will find that Peleton has no proof against him. It is your cousin who will suffer."

"I thought Henri was killed on the staircase'" cried Armand.

"No, he was wounded, but we managed to convey him along a secret passage, of which Pillot knew, into Martin's house. He is a bold rascal! I shall feel quite sorry if he falls into Conde's clutches. Did the prince question you, Armand?"

"No, he was too much occupied with Peleton, but he intends sending for Albert in a day or two. You will be wearing his livery soon, my friend!" said he, turning to me.

"Not likely!" I replied laughing. "Remember I am still a Mazarin!"

Humphreys and I accompanied our friends some distance on their way, and then turned off in the direction of the Palais Royal. We did not talk much, for I was tired and sleepy, but I thanked the Englishman for the gallant part he had played in Peleton's capture. Indeed, without his assistance I question if the adventure would have ended so successfully.

Remembering Armand's remarks, I remained in the house the whole of the next day, in case Conde should send a message; but it was not until the third evening after the fight that one of his gentlemen appeared with a request that I would go immediately to the Hotel de Conde. The prince received me graciously, and, indeed, he displayed a very winning manner when it suited his purpose.

"Well, M. de Lalande," he exclaimed, "you have kept your promise, and Monsieur Peleton is occupying your old cell in the Bastille. Do you know, I fancy he is rather pleased at leaving his late quarters?"

"I can well believe that, your Highness! He does not like being on the losing side. But I hope he has made it quite plain that I had nothing to do with the conspiracy?"

"He has told me everything in his power. By the way, De Lalande, that cousin of yours must be a very daring fellow!"

"My cousin Henri, your Highness?" said I, with a start of surprise.

"Yes, the man who carried the plot through! De Retz has an able lieutenant in him. Oh, come, do not look so astonished. You must have guessed the truth, and now there is no need for concealment. Peleton's evidence is sufficient to bring your cousin's head to the block. But I bear him no ill-will, and he can still save himself."

"How, your Highness?"

"You are a clever lad," said the prince, "and honest, as far as honesty goes in these days. You are from the country, I believe?"

"Yes, your Highness," I answered, really surprised now.

"And have enjoyed many a good day's fishing, I warrant? Ah, I see you have. Have you ever gone out with the determination to hook one particularly big fish?"

"Why, yes," I replied, laughing, and quite at my ease. "I remember an old trout, a regular monster, that I could never catch, though I tried often enough. He was a wily fellow and would not take the bait."

"But you landed others?"

"A good many, your Highness, though they did not make up for the one I missed."

"Then you can understand my feelings, De Lalande. I have been angling a long time for a very wily fish, but I cannot get him on my hook; and the lesser ones are not worth catching. They are useful only as bait."

Now I began to perceive the prince's drift. The big fish was, of course, De Retz, who so skilfully avoided capture; Peleton only ranked as one of the smaller fry.

After a time, Conde, who had been watching my face closely, spoke more plainly.

"M. de Lalande," he began, "I am going to ask you a question. Will you take service with me?"

"You do me great honour, your Highness, but it is impossible. I have pledged my word to Cardinal Mazarin."

"His power is gone."

"Which seems to me all the more reason why I should stand by him, your Highness. A fallen man has the most need of friends."

"And obtains few. However, I will not attempt to persuade you, but there is one matter in which it may suit your interest to serve us. Would you like to see your cousin led out to execution?"

"By no means, your Highness! He played me a nasty trick, 'tis true, but I am sure he had no hand in Maubranne's scheme."

"Very well. I will speak plainly to you. This Peleton has told me all he knows. His confession is sufficient to bring your cousin to the block, but it is not enough for my purpose. It strikes at the second man and leaves the first untouched. Now, I would much prefer that it should be the other way, and in this you can assist me."

"I will enter into no schemes to entrap my cousin, your Highness."

"No, no!" answered the prince pettishly; "you mistake my meaning. I want you to go to him from me, privately. Make him aware that Peleton has confessed and his own head is in danger. Do you understand?"

"So far, your Highness."

"The rest is simple. He can save his life if he chooses, by adding to Peleton's confession. If he will not do this he must take the consequences."

"Your Highness has made a mistake," I answered coldly. "Henri de Lalande is not another Peleton. He will not purchase his life on these terms."

Conde laughed and exclaimed, "At least you can offer him the chance. Find out where he is hiding and deliver my message. Then he can please himself."

Although feeling sure that Henri would refuse to avail himself of Conde's offer, I allowed myself to be persuaded, and, before leaving the house, agreed to report to my cousin what the prince had said.

I soon discovered that the promise was easier to make than to fulfil. Henri had vanished, and on all hands I heard rumour of his death. So steady and persistent was the report that even Marie and her aunt, on whom I called the next day, believed it.

"It is quite true," Madame Coutance declared. "De Retz has offered up prayers for the repose of his soul, which he would hardly venture to do if he believed your cousin was still alive. I met Madame de Chevreuse last night and she informed me that the Abbe is disconsolate."

I did not argue the point, though in my own mind I concluded that De Retz was a very clever schemer, and that these reports of Henri's death were circulated in order to deceive Conde.

In the afternoon I paid a visit to the astrologer's house, and by dint of bribing the porter gained admittance. Fortunately for the learned Martin the fire had not reached his rooms, though some parts of the buildings were damaged. The philosopher received me very affably, and spoke in feeling terms of my cousin's illness, but when I asked if Henri would see me the wily old fellow regarded me with the utmost astonishment.

"M. de Lalande is not here!" he observed. "Did you not know? How strange! Why, he had left before D'Artagnan arrived with his musketeers to search the house. It appears that your cousin has offended Conde, or the Duke of Orleans, or some powerful person, and is in danger of being imprisoned."

"It is said in the city that he is dead."

"Dead? I hope not, but in his weak state the hurried flight may easily have proved fatal. The soldiers were sent to arrest him, but his faithful servant, by some means, heard of their coming, and smuggled his master out just in time."

"Pillot?"

"Yes, he is a trusty fellow."

"Where was my cousin taken?"

"Pillot did not trust me with his secret," said the astrologer, smiling blandly, "and I have not seen him since."

"But you can guess where he is to be found?"

"Indeed, I have not the least notion, monsieur," and the bland smile became still more bland, "but as to the rumour of your cousin's death I would fain hope that it is not true."

Remembering the nature of my last visit with Mazarin to this house, I placed small faith in Martin's remarks, but as it was clearly impossible to obtain any further information I took my leave, resolving to discover for myself what really had become of Henri. Raoul joined me in the search, but for a long time our efforts were fruitless. It became, indeed, difficult not to believe in my cousin's death. Many even of Conde's friends accepted the report as true, while the Abbe's henchmen openly mourned the loss of their brilliant leader. Still I was not entirely satisfied, especially as no trace could be found of Pillot.

During one of our expeditions we came across Pierre and Francois, the one grim and hostile, the other smiling and communicative.

"Monsieur is right," replied Francois in answer to my questioning, "M. de Lalande did leave the astrologer's house; I helped to carry him. He was ill—dying, I think. We took him to a safe place. Pillot stayed to nurse him and I left them. He instructed me to go because the soldiers were watching."

"Could you show us this house?" I asked.

"Monsieur would have his journey in vain. M. de Lalande is not there now. Pillot took him, or his dead body, away in a carriage."

"Where is Pillot now?"

"Ah! monsieur asks a question! Perhaps he is dead too! I have not seen him since."

For a moderate consideration Francois agreed to point out the haunts which his former ally had been in the habit of frequenting. Such dens of vice and misery, where crime, starvation, and disease went hand in hand, I had never beheld. I wondered how any one could live in such noisome places even for a day. The sufferings of the people were terrible; a dreadful pestilence mowed them down in scores. Small marvel that a clever agitator like De Retz could obtain hundreds of willing tools ready for any act of bloodshed and violence.

Always hungry, always in filth and rags, scarred and disfigured by disease, their numbers decimated many times over by an ever-present plague, what could they know of the sanctity of life? Death walked and talked with them continually; a familiar guest, eating and drinking by their side like a trusty comrade—feared by none, welcomed by many. But for Francois we should never have left these dens alive.

With all our care and trouble we could obtain no information. My cousin had vanished so completely that I gradually became convinced of his death, and an accidental meeting with De Retz confirmed me in this belief.

Coming one day from the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, I met the Abbe face to face. He stopped involuntarily and his face became white.

"De Lalande?" he gasped. "De Lalande? Is it possible?"

"Albert de Lalande," I said.

"Ah," he exclaimed with a sigh of relief, "Henri's cousin! I had forgotten you, and it is a shock to one's nerves to meet a dead man in the flesh."

"Is my cousin really dead, monsieur?"

"Ma foi! What a question! Why do you ask?"

"Because I imagined the report had been spread about to deceive Conde."

"No," he replied, showing no offence at my remark, "I would it were so, but M. Beauchamp's sword bit deeply. Pillot should have informed you, but he has had much to do. He has taken his master's body home for burial. I feel his loss greatly. Your cousin was an admirable man, and I shall never find his equal. But what of yourself? Have you taken service with Conde?"

"No, monsieur, I still fight for the Throne."

"And for Albert de Lalande! Well, well, as long as you steer clear of me I wish you no harm."

"Monsieur is pleased to be gracious," I returned with a mocking bow. "I am indeed grateful."

The little rogue's eyes twinkled brightly, and he went away laughing.

So Henri was really dead and laid to rest in the family vault! I could no longer question the truth of the rumour after seeing the Abbe's face when he met me. It was certain that he, at least, believed my cousin was dead and buried. Even Raoul could not shake me on this point, though he rather scoffed at the story.

"It is a trick to deceive Conde," he said. "If Henri is dead, where is Pillot?"

"He has taken the body home."

"Chut! The tale is a pack of lies. The Abbe is keeping your cousin in hiding till Conde has lost his power. Have you heard that he is going to accuse the prince of high treason?"

"De Retz?"

"Yes, to-morrow in open court at the Palais de Justice. There are likely to be warm doings, and it is my belief if De Retz wins your cousin Henri will soon come to life."

That night I wandered about the city by myself. Raoul and Armand were with the troops in the Luxembourg; John Humphreys was at his post in the Palais Royal; the gates of both palaces were closed and barred, for no one knew what an hour would bring forth. The night passed quietly, but, as soon as the dawn broke, bands of armed men, in the pay of De Retz, moved down on the Palais de Justice, swarming into the halls and galleries and seizing the best positions. The crowd outside rapidly increased to enormous numbers, and very soon cries of "Down with Conde" were heard.

About an hour after De Retz put in an appearance loud shouts announced the coming of the prince. He rode haughtily at the head of some two thousand fighting men, who marched afoot with their hands on their swords, and apparently quite ready to use them. I was standing near the gate as Conde passed, and to my surprise he beckoned me toward him.

"Has your search failed?" he asked.

"Yes, your Highness. According to all accounts my cousin is dead, and I am sure De Retz thinks so."

"Why do you say that?" he asked quickly. "Come with me; it is important that I should have the latest news."

Accordingly we walked together along the corridor, which was filled with armed men, and so into the Parliament Hall, Conde listening with deep attention to the story of my chance meeting with De Retz.

"Ah!" he exclaimed thoughtfully, "that will account for more than one strange incident," and leaving me he took his seat in the assembly.

I was too far off to hear the speeches, but there was tremendous excitement, and I think everyone was expecting the meeting to end in bloodshed. Better sense, however, prevailed; Conde sent a nobleman to ask his friends to withdraw, and De Retz went with a similar message to his own retainers. Then something happened which threatened to undo all the good. Conde's messenger getting back first shut the door, and when the Abbe knocked, opened it only a little way. As De Retz endeavoured to squeeze through, the nobleman caught and fixed him between the two halves, at the same time calling to his friends to kill the Abbe.



It was a critical moment, as the first blow would have been the signal for a fierce fight, yet I could hardly refrain from laughing at the spectacle. The little man's head and shoulders were within the hall, and the rest of his body was outside, while he could not stir an inch. Happily no blow was struck, as one of Conde's captains, crying "Shame!" ran forward, and two or three of us nearest the door managed to extricate the Abbe from his awkward situation.

"Thank you, gentlemen," he exclaimed; "I am glad there are some men of honour in the prince's train," and he passed to his seat as if nothing unusual had happened.

"There will be no more trouble to-day," said a man close to me; and he was right, but Paris had only just missed another revolution.



CHAPTER XX.

News at Last.

The incident at the Palais de Justice somewhat sobered the Parisians, and for several days the city presented quite an unusual appearance of peace. Once more the mob retired to its own quarters, and the nobles of the different parties renewed their private friendships.

By this time I had abandoned my search for Henri, and spent most of my time with Raoul and Armand d'Arcy, or with John Humphreys.

One evening while chatting with the Englishman at the Palais Royal, Le Tellier, the Under Minister, passed by.

"Are you not M. de Lalande?" he asked, turning and looking hard into my face.

Now, coming from him, this was a very stupid question, as, when Mazarin ruled in Paris, Le Tellier had often seen me with the Cardinal. However, I shrugged my shoulders, and answered carelessly that he made no mistake.

"I believe you are in the Queen's service?" he continued.

"It is an office without salary, then," I answered, thinking of my nearly empty purse, which was not likely to wear out through the rubbing of coins against it.

"Tut, tut!" he exclaimed, "money is not plentiful at Court just now; nevertheless you will be amply rewarded. Come with me, I have a word for you," and he led me aside.

Wondering at his manner, but glad of a chance to do something, I waited for him to speak.

"You are aware," he began, "that, in two days from this, the King is to be declared of age, and that he will proceed in state to the Parliament House?"

"Certainly, monsieur, that is common talk; the citizens are very pleased."

"Those who are peacefully disposed!" he exclaimed; then, sinking his voice to a whisper, he added, "but there are some still eager for mischief. It would be a pity if a tumult should arise during the King's progress. The soldiers, fortunately, can be depended on, but in addition, we require a band of gallant gentlemen to line the route. Can I rely on you for one?"

"Assuredly," I replied, "I shall be glad to assist."

"Then come to me at midnight to-morrow, and I will inform you where to station yourself."

"Another adventure?" inquired Humphreys, when I returned to him.

"Pouf! A bagatelle, nothing more! Le Tellier is anxious that I should have a good view of the procession. You will accompany the Queen, I suppose?"

"The orders have not yet been issued. It is a good idea this of declaring the King of age; though he is only a youngster."

"Fourteen," I said. "It is understood that his mother will continue to rule as before."

"Just so. But in the King's name. Don't you see that it will cut the ground from under the feet of her enemies? While they would plot against the Regent, they will not dare to raise arms against the King. I call it a very sensible proceeding. People will have to choose sides now, either with the King or with his foes. If Conde and De Retz do not submit, they will be rebels. They must either obey or defy the King, and we shall have a plain issue."

"It will keep Mazarin out, though."

"Quite so. If I were you I should obtain a post under the young King."

This was sensible advice, but considering myself still in Mazarin's employ, I decided to let the matter wait a while longer. Perhaps I might even yet hear from Belloc.

On the morning of the eventful day I took my place, by Le Tellier's orders, about a hundred yards from the gates of the Palais de Justice. Other cavaliers, well armed, were stationed at short intervals along the line of route, making little show, but ready at any moment to pounce on any one endeavouring to stir up strife.

As it chanced, Le Tellier's precautions were not required. There was a tremendous crowd, but the people were in the best of humour, and amused themselves by shouting "Vive le Roi!" with all their might. They cheered for the Queen-Mother as well, and, listening to them, one would have thought Paris the most loyal city under the sun.

"Ma foi!" exclaimed the cavalier on my right, "it is wonderful; but how long will it last?"

"Till the show is over most likely. The citizens love a pretty spectacle, no matter who provides it."

Round after round of cheering announced the approach of the procession, which was on the most magnificent scale. After a body of trumpeters came fifty guides clothed in the Royal livery, and then eight hundred gorgeously dressed nobles on horseback.

I felt a passing pang of envy at sight of the nobleman who led the Light Horse. His robe was of gold embroidery, and he carried his sword in a baldrick of pearls. In his hat waved a splendid plume of feathers, and the trappings of his white horse were of scarlet adorned with pearls. The spectators could not contain themselves, but clapped their hands and cried "Bravo!" vigorously.

After the Light Horse came the Hundred Swiss in their romantic costume, and then a crowd of gentlemen, followed by the marshals of France—one carrying the King's sword, with the scabbard resting on his arm. Then a thundering roar broke out, and the people appeared beside themselves with delight.

"Live the King!" they cried. "God bless him!" "God save his Majesty!"

I craned my neck as eagerly as any other sightseer, as our youthful monarch approached. He was truly a handsome boy, and managed his fiery horse with the grace and skill of an accomplished rider.

"What a King he will be!" exclaimed one bystander. "He will bring back the glory to our country. Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!" and again there was an outburst of cheering.

No one paid any attention to the princes and nobles following him; all the cheers were for the King and the King alone.

I observed Raoul ride by, and presently John Humphreys appeared with the guards who surrounded the Queen's carriage. Raoul was smiling, for, like a true Parisian, he enjoyed a pretty show, but the Englishman strode along as if he had a mind to be done with the business. Just as he was on a level with me I received a great surprise. On the other side of the road a little man had pushed himself right into the front line of spectators, and was gazing anxiously up and down as if expecting to recognise some one.

"Why, surely," I said, half aloud, "that is my old acquaintance, Pillot!" and, looking a second time I became sure of it.

The dwarf seemed ill at ease, and altogether unlike his usual self. His face, too, was white and pinched, as if he had been suffering from a severe illness.

"Parbleu!" I muttered, "one would not think he had but just returned from the country! Perhaps he missed the air of Paris! Anyhow, I am glad he is back, as now I shall learn the truth as to my cousin's death. When the procession is gone by I will beckon to him to come over."

At that moment Pillot caught sight of me; he became more nervous than before, and to my astonishment instantly began edging back into the crowd till he was lost to view. Now this curious behaviour set me thinking. Why should Pillot endeavour to get out of my way? Was he afraid that I should hand him over to Conde? Certainly he had been mixed up in the plot, but so had Pierre and Francois, and the prince had not thought it worth while to imprison either of them.

"There is some mystery about this which I must look into!" I muttered. "Pillot is not the man to slink away without reason."

For the time, however, I could do nothing, but as soon as the King returned to the Palais Royal I began an eager but unavailing search for the dwarf. He had disappeared completely, and there was no trace of him anywhere.

In the evening Raoul and John Humphreys met at my rooms and I informed them of my discovery. The Englishman thought little of it, saying Pillot was likely to keep out of my way, but Raoul, like myself, fancied he had some reason for his strange behaviour.

"The fellow isn't afraid for himself," he declared. "He knows Conde will not touch him, and besides, he is a plucky rascal. Depend on it, there is something beneath this business, and I should guess it has to do with Henri de Lalande."

"But my cousin is dead and buried!" I objected.

"Chut! You have no proof of it. He may be in hiding for what we know, and waiting his opportunity. According to all accounts, he will soon have little to fear from Conde."

"The prince is lost," exclaimed Humphreys. "Did you notice he stayed away to-day? It is rumoured in the palace that the Queen is furious, and that there is to be no more giving quarter. Conde will be an outlaw before long."

"And it is my belief," remarked Raoul, "that when Conde goes, Henri will reappear. Still, if you wish, Albert, we will help you to find Pillot."

"The worst of it is I have not the faintest idea where to look."

"We can try the house in the Rue de Roi."

"The walk will do us good," said Humphreys, "and I am off duty till midnight;" so, putting on our hats, we went into the street.

Paris was holding high holiday that evening. The buildings were decorated with flags and streamers; bonfires cast a lurid light on the animated scene; crowds of people went to and fro, laughing merrily and cheering the nobles and ladies who rode by in their gorgeous carriages. The spell of the morning was on them all; and though many realised that the troubles would soon break out more fiercely than ever, every one seemed bent on making the most of the brief truce.

"You Parisians are a remarkable set!" exclaimed Humphreys as we walked along; "I believe you would dance on the edge of a mine."

"Till the explosion occurred!" laughed Raoul. "Did you notice the folks in that carriage, Albert? One was your friend Lautrec; he still follows Conde's fortunes. Ah! there goes Marshal Turenne!"

"A fine general!" remarked Humphreys. "Why doesn't the Queen give him the command of the army? He would make short work of Conde."

"Wait till the prince draws the sword," said Raoul, "and we shall see. Have you forgotten that at present we are all friends?"

The Englishman declared it was scarcely worth remembering, as, in a day or two, we were just as likely to be enemies, and I thought there was a considerable amount of truth in his remark.

We wandered along slowly, chatting together, but scanning the faces of the passers-by and keeping a sharp look-out for Pillot. There was, however, no sign of him, and I had just suggested going straight to the inn, when Raoul, suddenly taking a man by the arm, exclaimed, "Francois? How lucky! Why, you are just the fellow we want!" and turning round I saw that he was addressing the amiable spy of the Rue Crillon.

Francois gazed at us with a beaming smile. He was not a bad-hearted fellow, and bore no malice in spite of all that had passed.

"Where are your friends?" asked Raoul. "You should not be alone on such a night as this. Where have you left Pillot?"

"Pillot?" echoed Francois wonderingly. "I have not seen him for weeks; he is in the country somewhere."

"Oh, now, Francois, you are making fun of us! We know that our friend Pillot is in Paris."

"Monsieur is wiser than I, then!" replied Francois. "They say, down in our quarter, that he went to bury his master and has not returned. I assure monsieur that not one of his old friends has set eyes on him for a long time past."

The man spoke so straightforwardly that even Raoul believed he was telling the truth, though it seemed strange, if Pillot were really back again, that none of his acquaintances should be aware of it. Why had he kept himself hidden all this time?

"We want to find him," said Raoul after a pause, "but not to do him any injury. Suppose he has returned to Paris—if he ever went away—where is he most likely to be? I assure you, Francois, that he has nothing to fear from us."

"I cannot tell, monsieur. I think you must have made a mistake. If he were inside the walls I should have seen him. He has not been back to any of his usual haunts."

Evidently there was no information to be obtained from Francois, so Raoul gave him some money and let him go.

"Perhaps the fellow was right in saying you had made a mistake," remarked Humphreys, but this I would not admit. Not only had I seen Pillot, but he had recognised me.

"Let us try at La Boule d'Or," Raoul suggested, "and, if that is useless, we will not bother any further. After all, it really is of small consequence one way or the other."

The famous inn was crowded as usual, but Raoul conducted us to a private room, where, in a few minutes, we were joined by the landlord. He remembered me immediately, and began to speak of the trick I had played on the dwarf.

"We have come to meet Pillot," interrupted Raoul playing a bold game; "tell him we are here."

"But, monsieur, it is impossible! He is not in my house. He has been here only once since monsieur tied him up. It would not be a safe place for him. Besides, I have heard that he is no longer in Paris. Monsieur can search the place himself if he wishes. At the present, the inn is empty of guests. Two friends of the prince have been staying here, but they departed yesterday."

"And all your rooms are free?"

"That is so. Monsieur is at liberty to search the house."

"Come," said Raoul to us, "we are not likely to discover anything, but we shall feel more satisfied perhaps."

Taking a candle the landlord led the way, and we tramped after him, searching every room. Raoul knew the house thoroughly, so that nothing escaped us, and we were bound to admit that Pillot was not in the inn. Leaving us outside, Raoul entered the public rooms, but he could neither find the dwarf nor gain any information of him, and at last we departed, my comrades feeling more than half inclined to believe that my eyes had deceived me.

However, as Raoul said, I should gain little even by finding Pillot. If my cousin still lived—which I sincerely hoped—he could not be in much danger from Conde. Beneath all the gaiety and merriment of that night, it was easy to observe the shadow of coming trouble, and, indeed, before many days had passed Paris was again in a state of turmoil.

Conde was almost openly in rebellion: the country trembled on the brink of civil war; of authority there was none save in the strong hand; every man did that which seemed right in his own eyes. Bands of armed ruffians paraded the streets, robbing and murdering as they pleased; the soldiers quarrelled among themselves; the nobles fought in the public places, unsheathing their swords even in the Parliament House. Thoroughly wearied of this meaningless strife, I longed for a strong man, such as our present most gracious King has proved, who should whip these snarling dogs back to their kennels.

One evening I sat at my window looking into the street below. The inhabitants of the Rue des Catonnes were having fine doings. From one end to the other they swarmed—a heaving mass of excited humanity. It was plain that a crisis had arrived. Paris was in rebellion, but against whom or what not one in a thousand knew or cared. For the moment the people were masters, and they made the most of their opportunity.

I watched their antics in amazement. Costly furniture, handsome brocades, rich tapestry and gorgeous hangings littered the street. Grimy, unwashed ruffians swaggered about in clothes costly with lace, and plumed hats, some even carrying swords. They were in the merriest humour imaginable, but I knew well that a chance word might change their mirth into madness.

"They have plundered some nobleman's house," I muttered. "I wonder who the victim is?"

I was still sitting at the window when the tramp of horses' feet sounded in the distance, and presently D'Artagnan appeared at the end of the street with a body of cavalry. For a minute or two it seemed as if the rioters would oppose his progress, but, having no leader, and perhaps being in no mood for a fight, they began to slink away by ones and twos into the houses. A few lingered half defiantly, but obtaining no support from their fellows, they also disappeared, and not a blow was struck as the soldiers rode through the street.

"Bravo!" I exclaimed, "the mischief may be stamped out yet. I wonder if the other quarters are quiet," and, buckling on my sword, I crossed the room just as a man in dishevelled dress rushed panting up the stairs.

I gazed at my unexpected visitor in amazement and rubbed my eyes. Were they playing me false? No! It was Pillot sure enough, and he was gasping for breath. Why had he come to me?

"Just in time, monsieur," he stammered as he leaned against the wall to recover.

"What is it?" I exclaimed. "What do you want? Quick, I am in a hurry."

"Wait, monsieur. Listen; you must! I ran all the way to the Rue Crillon, but you were not there."

"The Rue Crillon?" I interrupted, thinking of Madame Coutance and Marie. "Is anything the matter there? Are the ladies in danger?"

"No, no," he answered impatiently. "No one will harm them. They are as safe as at Aunay. It is of your cousin. He calls for you, monsieur; he is dying—and alone! Come with me, monsieur, quick! I must return at once; he may be dead!"