"On for the door, then!" said Lorin; "as long as we enter, it little matters how. Forward! sword in hand, Maurice."
Maurice mechanically drew his sword from the scabbard, and the little troop advanced toward the pavilion. The information of the man in gray proved perfectly correct; they first found the steps, then the landing, and at last entered the vestibule.
"Ah!" cried Lorin, joyfully, "the key is in the door." In short, extending his hand in the dark, his fingers had encountered the cold key.
"Then open it, Citizen Lieutenant," said the man in gray.
Lorin cautiously turned the key in the lock. The door opened. Maurice wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"We shall find him here," said Lorin.
"Not yet," said the man in gray; "if our chart is correct, this is the apartment of Citizeness Dixmer."
"We can soon ascertain that," said Lorin; "light a wax candle; there is some fire in the grate."
"Light the torches," said the man in gray, "they are not so soon extinguished as candles," at the same time taking two torches from the hand of a gendarme, which he lighted by the dying embers. He placed one in the hand of Maurice, the other in that of Lorin. "You see," said he, "I was not deceived; here is the door opening into Citizeness Dixmer's sleeping apartment, and here the one opening into the corridor."