She was aware that the window had been perforated at this corner, and that through this aperture the departing individual had conveyed a paper which was doubtless a billet. It was now lying on the ground. The queen fixed her eyes upon it, listening if either of her guards was approaching, but heard them conversing in a low tone as they usually did, as if by a tacit agreement not to annoy her with their voices. Then she rose softly, holding her breath, and secured the paper. Some minute and hard substance slipped from it, which, falling on the bricks, sounded like metal. It was the most exquisite file that could be imagined,—more of the jewel than the tool,—one of those steel springs, with which the most feeble and uninitiated hand could, in a quarter of an hour, divide a bar of iron. The paper said:—
"Madame, to-morrow, at half-past nine, a man will be conversing with the gendarmes who guard you, through the window of the women's court. During this time your Majesty will saw the third bar of your window, going from the left to the right. Cut slanting. A quarter of an hour will suffice for your Majesty; and then be prepared to escape through the window. This advice reaches you from one of your most devoted and faithful subjects; one who has consecrated his life to your Majesty's service, and would be happy also to sacrifice it for you."
"Oh!" murmured the queen, "it must be a snare. But no; this writing appears familiar to me,—it is the same as at the Temple. It is—it must be that of the Chevalier de Maison-Rouge! God is perhaps willing that I should escape."
And the queen fell on her knees, and took refuge in prayer, the only balm and consolation undenied to the unfortunate prisoner.
THE PREPARATIONS OF DIXMER.
The morrow, prefaced by a sleepless night, at length arrived, presenting a terrible appearance, and it might, without exaggeration, be said that the sky was the color of blood.
Indeed, each day at this epoch and in this year, however beautiful the sun, had a livid hue.