‘Stay awhile, stay awhile!’ exclaimed Maître Picard. ‘Now you shall see what I can do. Here comes the Guet Royal. Aux voleurs! aux voleurs!!’
The little man was right. From his elevated position he had seen the guard with their lights turning round the corner of the Rue Mouffetard, and he now hailed them with all the force of his lungs, kicking his legs in nervous anxiety until one of his shoes fell off upon Glazer’s head, who directly returned it, flinging it at the little man with a force that almost upset him from his treacherous position.
The scholars instantly took the alarm (for some of the mounted guard were riding down the street), and fled in all directions along the narrow and dark outlets of the Faubourg St. Marcel. Lachaussée, who, with Sainte-Croix, had been a spectator of the scene, seized the officer by the arm and drew him into the house.
‘It will not do for you to be found here, monsieur,’ he said; ‘follow me—we can get off by the Bièvre.’
He closed the door after them, and telling the host not to admit the guard, but let them break in if they chose, passed through the room lately occupied by the scholars, and throwing open the window, stepped out upon the bank of the Bièvre—a small stream running from the south, which flows into the Seine a little above the present Pont d’Austerlitz by the Jardin des Plantes. It was now swollen with the rains, and was rushing angrily by the narrow path, along which Lachaussée led the way, having once more closed the window.
They crept along, clinging like bats to the walls of the houses that bordered the stream, at the risk of falling into it every minute, until Lachaussée stopped at a small gate, to which he applied a pass-key. It opened, and Sainte-Croix found himself in an outer court of the Gobelins. This they crossed, and were immediately afterwards in one of the apartments apportioned to the superintendents.
Lachaussée raked together some embers on the hearth, which he soon blew into a flame, and then lighted a lamp; whilst Sainte-Croix once more threw off his cloak and took his place on one of the settles.
‘So,’ he exclaimed, ‘we are once more housed. Your night’s adventure is so far to be considered fortunate, as I might have looked for you long enough here, it seems.’
‘The purse of the Marquis wanted replenishing,’ replied Lachaussée in an easy tone. ‘You did not let me know you were coming, or I might have stayed at home.’
‘I am chilled and wearied,’ said Sainte-Croix; ‘have you no wine?’