We walked on then in silence, the stone walls vibrant with our tread. We went on till it seemed we had traversed the width of Paris; and I wondered who were sleeping and feasting and scheming and loving over our heads. M. Étienne said at length:
"Mordieu! I hope this snake-hole does not empty us out into the Seine." But I thought that as long as it emptied us out somewhere, I should not greatly mind the Seine.
At this very moment M. Étienne clutched my arm, jerking me to a halt. I bounded backward, trying in the blackness to discern a precipice yawning at my feet. "Look!" he cried in a low, tense voice. I perceived, far before us in the gloom, a point of light, which, as we watched it, grew bigger and bigger, till it became an approaching lantern.
"This is like to be awkward," murmured M. Étienne.
The man carrying the light came on with firm, heavy tread; naturally he did not see us as soon as we saw him. I thought him alone, but it was hard to tell in this dark, echoy place.
He might easily have approached within touch of my sad clothing without becoming aware of me, but M. Étienne's azure and white caught the lantern rays a rod away. The newcomer stopped short, holding up the light between us and his face. We could make nothing of him, save that he was a large man, soberly clad.
"Who is it?" he demanded, his voice ringing out loud and steady. "Is it you, Ferou?"
M. Étienne hooked his scabbard in place, and went forward into the clear circle of light.
"No, M. de Mayenne; it is Étienne de Mar."
"Ventre bleu!" Mayenne ejaculated, changing his lantern with comical alacrity to his left hand, and whipping out his sword. My master's came bare, too, at that. They confronted each other in silence, till Mayenne's ever-increasing astonishment forced the cry from him: