But mademoiselle demurred:
"That will be out of our way, will it not, Vigo? It is a longer road from the Porte Neuve to St. Denis?"
"Yes; but what to do? We must get through the walls."
"Suppose we fare no better at the Porte Neuve? If your Brissac is suspected, he'll not be on at night. Vigo, I propose that we part company here. They will not know Gilles and Félix at the gate, will they?"
"No," Vigo said doubtfully; "but—"
"Then can we get through!" she cried. "They will not stop us, such humble folk! We are going to the bedside of our dying mother at St. Denis. Your name, Gilles?"
"Forestier, mademoiselle," he stammered, startled.
"Then are we all Forestiers—Gilles, Félix, and Jeanne. We can pass out, Vigo; I am sure we can pass out. I am loath to part with you, but I fear to go through the city to the Porte Neuve. My absence may be discovered—I must place myself without the walls speedily.
"Well, mademoiselle may try it," Vigo gave reluctant consent. "If you are refused, we can fall back on the Porte Neuve. If you succeed—Listen to me, you fellows. You will deliver mademoiselle into Monsieur's hands, or answer to me for it. If any one touches her little finger—well, trust me!"
"That's understood," we answered, saluting together.