“Why does he not come here?”
“Madame, he has received letters from Versailles, and wishes to show them to you.”
“Letters from Versailles,” thought Jeanne; “perhaps the queen has interested herself for me, since the sentence was passed. Wait a little,” she said; “Till I arrange my dress.” In five minutes she was ready. “Perhaps,” she thought, “M. Viollet has come to get me to leave France at once, and the queen is anxious to facilitate the departure of so dangerous an enemy.”
She followed the turnkey down-stairs, and they entered a room, which looked like a vault; it was damp, and almost dark.
“Sir,” said she, trying to overcome her terror, “where is M. Viollet?”
The man did not reply.
“What do you want?” continued she; “have you anything to say to me? you have chosen a very singular place for a rendezvous.”
“We are waiting for M. Viollet,” he replied.
“It is not possible that M. Viollet should wish for me to wait for him here.” All at once, another door, which Jeanne had not before observed, opened, and three men entered. Jeanne looked at them in surprise, and with growing terror. One of them, who was dressed in black, with a roll of papers in his hand, advanced, and said:
“You are Jeanne de St. Rémy de Valois, wife of Marie Antoine, Count de la Motte?”