"Corpo di Bacco!" M. Étienne exclaimed, with a face of childlike surprise. "Some one is in a fine hurry to enter! Do you not let him in, Sir Master of the Household?"
"I wonder who he's got there now," Pierre muttered to himself in French, staring in puzzled wise at the door. Then he answered M. Étienne with a laugh:
"No, my innocent; I do not let him in. It might cost me my neck to open that door. Come along now. I must see you out and get back to my trenchers."
We met not a soul on the stairs, every one, served or servants, being in the supper-room. We passed the sentry without question, and round the corner without hindrance. M. Étienne stopped to heave a sigh of thanksgiving.
"I thought we were done for that time!" he panted. "Mordieu! another scored off Lucas! Come, let us make good time home! 'Twere wise to be inside our gates when he gets out of that closet."
We made good time, ever listening for the haro after us. But we heard it not. We came unmolested up the street at the back, of the Hôtel St. Quentin, on our way to the postern. Monsieur took the key out of his doublet, saying as we walked around the corner tower:
"Well, it appears we are safe at home."
"Yes, M. Étienne."
Even as I uttered the words, three men from the shadow of the wall sprang out and seized us.
"This is he!" one cried. "M. le Comte de Mar, I have the pleasure of taking you to the Bastille."