I left the room and found myself at the foot of a flight of stairs which led to a hallway above. Following this, I came to a room which I recognized as that which I had entered sword in hand in pursuit of Mère Fouchon. As I stepped into it, I heard some one knocking at the outer door. I flung it open, and saw outside a man who shrank back in alarm as his eyes fell upon me. A cart was standing in the street.
“Ah, it is the driver,” I cried. “Come, my friend, you are to take me to the Palais Royal as quickly as possible.”
“I came for a woman, not for a madman!” he protested.
“I am no madman,” I said. “Come,” and I opened my bag and gave him a louis. “This will pay you for your trouble.”
“Where is the woman?” he asked.
“She no longer has need of you.”
He looked at me a moment with staring eyes.
“Monsieur,” he said at last, “a crime has been committed here.”
“I do not deny it,” I answered, “only it is not I who have committed it. Why, man, I want you to take me to M. d’Argenson at the Palais Royal. Do you think I should go there, if I had committed a crime?”
“To M. d’Argenson?” he repeated. “Ah, ah—that is different. Come, Monsieur, I will take you,” and he sprang into his cart. I was beside him ere the words were spoken.