"Thousand devils! It's a boy!"
A second later, when he recollected himself, I was tearing down the lane.
I am a good runner, and then, any one can run well when he runs for his life. Despite the wretched kirtle tying up my legs, I gained on him, and when I had reached the corner of our house, he dropped the pursuit and made off in the darkness. I ran full tilt round to the great gate, bellowing for the sentry to open. He came at once, with a dripping torch, to burst into roars of laughter at the sight of me. My wig was somewhere in the lane behind me; he knew me perfectly in my silly toggery. He leaned against the wall, helpless with laughing, shouting feebly to his comrades to come share the jest. I, you may well imagine, saw nothing funny about it, but kicked and shook the grilles in my rage and impatience. He did open to me at length, and in I dashed, clamouring for Vigo. He had appeared in the court by this, as also half a dozen of the guard, who surrounded me with shouts of astonished mockery; but I, little heeding, cried to the equery:
"Vigo, M. le Comte is arrested! He's in the Bastille!"
Vigo grasped my arm, and lifted rather than led me in at the guard-room door, slamming it in the soldiers' faces.
"Now, Félix."
"M. Étienne!" I gasped—"M. Étienne is arrested! They were lying in wait for him at the back of the house, by the tower. They've taken him off in a coach to the Bastille."
"Who have?"
"The governor's guard. You'll saddle and pursue? You'll rescue him?"
"How long ago?"