At ten o'clock Jean hastened home to the Rue de Lille, donned the costume of a coachman, which, as he was growing wondrously tall and large, did not fit him ill, and leaving Mère Clouet and Yvonne tingling with suppressed excitement, hurried to one of the dark and deserted streets nearby. True to appointment, there stood a carriage driven by a liveried coachman. At the whispered word, "De Batz," the man got down, assisted Jean to climb up in his place, promised to be at the same spot two hours hence, and disappeared. Jean drove away, not proceeding straight to the Rue Charlot, but by a wide and devious route that took him first over a large part of that section of Paris. When he entered the Rue Charlot at the appointed time, eleven-thirty, it was quiet and dark.
Here he halted, and sat for nearly half an hour, feverish with impatience for the royal party to arrive. Presently he heard soft steps coming down the street, and his heart began to beat violently. But as the steps drew nearer, he beheld a little, wizened figure that had something strangely familiar about it, and his heart beat more violently still when he recognised his old enemy, La Souris! Nearer and nearer he drew with his queer, mouse-like manner, peering sharply to the right and left, and Jean began to hope that he would pass the waiting carriage without paying it any particular heed. But, no!—Citizen Coudert stopped directly before it, measured up the driver with his crafty eyes, and inquired:
"Is this carriage hired?" Jean thanked his stars for the broad hat that shaded his face, and the scarf that muffled him to the chin. He made his voice as deep as possible and replied:
"Yes, citizen! It is engaged for the evening!"
"Ah! Then you cannot take me to the Rue St. Denis?"
"No, citizen! I'm sorry!"
"Good-night, then!" growled Coudert as he moved off, and Jean responded with a shiver of apprehension. This strange individual's manner was so peculiar that one could never guess what were his real thoughts. Something about it all made the boy perfectly certain that La Souris did not want a carriage to take him anywhere. But why he should inquire, and how much he suspected, or whether he suspected at all, Jean could not, for the life of him, determine! Another quarter of an hour passed. At last the silence of the night was broken by the stern command of a guard, and the clanking open of a great gate. Then indeed Jean's heart leaped into his throat, and he felt assured of success. But instead of a party of five, one man came running at top speed down the street. When he was near enough, Jean recognised the Baron.
"Quick!" whispered De Batz. "Drive like the wind!"
"Where?" demanded Jean in despair.
"To the Barriére St. Denis! I must get out of Paris!" and De Batz jumped in, closing the door softly.