There it was comparative daylight. He left the choir, closed the door of the screen as he had found it, scaled the hay, crossed the platform, and slid down the other side. The key was still in his pocket. He unlocked the door and stepped out into the street.
The captain of gendarmerie was anxiously awaiting him. They conferred together for a few moments, and then they returned to Bourg by the outer road to avoid being seen. Here they entered the town through the market-gate, and followed the Rue de la Révolution, the Rue de la Liberté, and the Rue d’Espagne, since called the Rue Simonneau. There Roland ensconced himself in a corner of the Rue du Greffe and waited. The captain continued on his way alone. He went down the Rue des Ursules (for the last seven years called the Rue des Casernes). This was where the colonel of dragoons lived. He had just gone to bed when the captain of the gendarmerie entered his room; in two words the latter told all, and he rose at once and dressed in haste.
When the colonel of dragoons and the captain of gendarmerie appeared in the square, a shadow detached itself from the opposite wall and came up to them. That shadow was Roland. The three men stood talking for about ten minutes, Roland giving his orders, the other two listening and approving.
Then they separated. The colonel returned home. Roland and the captain followed the Rue de l’Etoile, climbed the steps of the Jacobins, passed down the Rue du Bourgneuf, and reached the outer road once more. Then they struck diagonally across to the highroad of Pont-d’Ain. The captain stopped at the barracks, which were on the way, and Roland continued alone to the château.
Twenty minutes later—in order not to awaken Amélie—instead of ringing the bell he knocked on Michel’s window-blind. Michel opened, and with one bound Roland, devoured by that fever which took possession of him whenever he incurred, or merely dreamed of some danger, sprang into the room.
He would not have awakened Amélie had he rung, for Amélie was not asleep. Charlotte had been into town ostensibly to see her father, but really to take a letter from her mistress to Morgan. She had seen Morgan and brought back his answer.
Amélie was reading that answer, which was as follows:
DEAR LOVE OF MINE—Yes, all goes well on your side, for you are
an angel; but I greatly fear that all may go ill on mine, for I
am the demon.
I must see you, I must hold you in my arms and press you to my
Heart. I know not what presentiment hangs over me; but I am sad,
sad as death.
Send Charlotte to-morrow to make sure that Sir John is gone, and
then, if you are certain, make the accustomed signal. Do not be
alarmed; do not talk to me of the snow, or tell me that my
footsteps will be seen. This time it is not I who will go to you,
but you who must come to me. Do you understand? You can safely
walk in the park, and no one will notice your footsteps.
Put on your warmest shawl and your thickest furs. Then we will
spend an hour in the boat under the willows together, and change
our roles for once. Usually I tell you of my hopes and you tell
me of your fears; but to-morrow, you will tell me of your hopes
and I will tell you of my fears, my darling Amélie.
Only, be sure to come out as soon as you have made the signal. I
will await it at Montagnac, and from Montagnac to the Reissouse
it will not take a love like mine five minutes to reach you.
Au revoir, my poor Amélie; had you never met me you would have
been the happiest of the happy. Fatality placed me in your path,
and I have made a martyr of you.
Your CHARLES.
P.S.—To-morrow without fail, unless some insurmountable obstacle
prevents.