Richelieu reached out and wrung my hand.
“I will go first,” he said.
“No, no!” I cried, and before he could prevent me I had pushed my body between the bars and was clinging to the sill without.
CHAPTER VI
A SURPRISE FOR MAISON-ROUGE
There was narrow foothold, and my head whirled for an instant as I clung to the bars with one hand and looked down at the flickering torches in the court below and along the outer wall. But the giddiness passed, and I leaned far out and vainly tried to pierce the darkness above me. The wall sloped outward at the height of my head, so that I could not see the top, but I had seen the parapet in daylight from a distance and knew that the merlons were narrow and spiked along the crest. It was over one of these that I must throw my rope, and I drew a deep breath as I nerved myself for the effort. Once, twice, I threw, with a long, outward sweep of the arm, and each time the rope fell back past me. Three, four, five times, but each time it came back without resistance. I paused for breath, and heard Richelieu cursing softly at the window. I leaned far out and threw the sixth time. The rope held. I bore my weight upon it, still clinging to the bars with one hand. It still held. Obviously, what I had hoped for had happened.
And then I paused, while the perspiration started in beads at the roots of my hair. As the wall sloped outward above me, I saw that so soon as I grasped the rope and loosed my hold on the bars of the window I would be swung outward. But there was no time to hesitate, and I feared that if I stopped to think my heart would fail me, so closing my eyes, I grasped the rope and let myself go. In a moment I was dangling like a fly over the abyss. Gripping my teeth, I went up hand over hand to the parapet, straining my wounded shoulder grievously, grasped the top of the battlement, pulled myself over, and fell limp as a rag on the other side. A moment later I heard a scratching against the wall, and Richelieu scrambled over beside me.
“Do not move,” he whispered, crouching under the parapet; “I hear footsteps.”
I also heard them, and saw faintly a sentry approaching with musket on his shoulder.
“’Tis our salvation,” I whispered, for in an instant I saw a way of escape.
“Our salvation?” questioned Richelieu.