At the Rue du Chateau his horse stumbled and fell, this time to rise no more.
What mattered it to Gaston now?—he had arrived. On he went on foot—his limbs were strained and deadened, yet he felt no fatigue, he held the paper crumpled in his hand.
One thing, however, astonished him, and that was meeting no one in so populous a quarter.
As he advanced, however, he heard a sullen murmur coming from the Place de Bouffay, as he passed before a long street which led into that Place.
There was a sea of heads, lit up by flaring lights; but Gaston passed on—his business was at the castle—and the sight disappeared.
At last he saw the castle—he saw the door gaping wide before him. The sentinel on guard upon the drawbridge tried to stop him; but Gaston, his order in his hand, pushed him roughly aside and entered the inner door.
Men were talking, and one of them wiping his tears off as he talked.
Gaston understood it all.
"A reprieve!" he cried, "a re—"
The word died upon his lips; but the men had done better than hear, they had seen his despairing gesture.