This mental prayer concluded, all three remained without uttering a word.
Eleven o'clock struck, then twelve. At the moment when the last stroke resounded from the bronze bell, the noise of arms was heard on the spiral staircase ascending to the queen.
"They are relieving sentinels," said she; "they come for us."
She saw her sister and daughter turn very pale.
"Courage!" said she, trembling herself with emotion.
"It is noon," cried a voice from below. "Bring down the prisoners."
"We are here, gentlemen," replied the queen, who, with a sentiment almost of regret, took a parting glance at the black walls and the rude appurtenances which had been more or less the companions of her captivity.
The first wicket opened, they gained the corridor, which, being dark, enabled the three captives to conceal their emotions. Before them frolicked little Jet; but when they arrived at the second,—that is to say the door from which Marie Antoinette endeavored to turn her eyes,—the faithful little animal first placed his nose to the ground, then laid his head upon his paws, and gave utterance to a succession of plaintive cries which terminated in a prolonged howl.
The queen passed on quickly, not having strength sufficient to recall her dog, and supported herself against the wall.