The three fugitives sprang into the room.
"Do you like to stop here?" asked Madame de Sabran.
"Yes," said Ravanne; "I will go and look for Canillac and his night-watch."
"No, no," said the regent; "they will be scaling your house and treating it as a town taken by assault. Let us gain the Palais Royal."
And they descended the staircase rapidly and opened the garden door. There they heard the despairing blows of their pursuers against the iron gates.
"Strike, strike, my friends," said the regent, running with the carelessness and activity of a young man, "the gate is solid, and will give you plenty of work."
"Quick, quick, monseigneur," cried Simiane, who, thanks to his great height, had jumped to the ground hanging by his arms, "there they are at the end of the Rue de Valois. Put your foot on my shoulder—now the other—and let yourself slip into my arms. You are saved, thank God."
"Draw your sword, Ravanne, and let us charge these fellows," said the regent.
"In the name of Heaven, monseigneur," cried Simiane, "follow us. I am not a coward, I believe, but what you would do is mere folly. Here, Ravanne."
And the young men, each taking one of the duke's arms, led him down a passage of the Palais Royal at the moment when those who were running by the Rue de Valois were at twenty paces from them, and when the door of the passage fell under the efforts of the second troop. The whole reunited band rushed against the gate at the moment that the three gentlemen closed it behind them.