I dashed past the torch-bearer, nearly upsetting him in my haste, and snatched her hand.
"Mademoiselle! Come into the house!"
She clutched me with fingers as cold as marble, which trembled on mine.
"Where is M. de St. Quentin?"
"At St. Denis."
"You must take me there to-night."
"I was going," I stammered, bewildered; "but you, mademoiselle—"
"You knew of M. de Mar's arrest?"
"Aye."
"What coil is this, Félix?" demanded Vigo, coming up. He took the torch from his man, and held it in mademoiselle's face, whereupon an amazing change came over his own. He lowered the light, shielding it with his hand, as if it were an impertinent eye.