“That will do,” said Richelieu. “Besides, we have always our poniards.”
“Let us make haste, then,” I cried, and I untied Maison-Rouge, first assuring myself that he was unarmed.
“Unbolt the door,” he said. Richelieu did so. The governor rang a bell. A man entered, and I saw Richelieu grip his dagger convulsively. At least, Maison-Rouge would not escape if he showed a sign of treachery.
“My coach, at once,” said the governor. “Inform Lieutenant Perrault that he is to take my place here until I return from a mission of importance.”
The man saluted and withdrew. I drew a breath of relief, and I felt that my forehead was damp with perspiration for the second time that night. Maison-Rouge donned his cloak and hat. Five tense minutes passed. Then the door opened and the man reappeared.
“The coach is waiting, monsieur,” he said.
“Very well,” replied the governor. “And Perrault?”
“Will be here in a moment, monsieur.”
“We will not wait for him. Follow me, my men,” and he led the way to a coach whose lanterns gleamed through the darkness. He entered first and we followed him. We were stopped at the drawbridge, and the sentry thrust in his head to be certain that it was really the governor of the Bastille who passed.
“All’s well,” he cried. The drawbridge creaked down and we rumbled over. There was a moment’s delay at the outer gate, then it was opened and we were free.