Yet did he hesitate to leave, and seemed actually to rely on me for some hint for his guidance. I did not dare to offer a suggestion; and while thus we both stood uncertain, the door opened, and a huissier called out,—
“Lieutenant-Greneral d'Auvergne,—this way, sir,” said the official, as he threw open a folding-door into a long gallery that looked into the garden. They passed out together, and I was alone.
The agitation of the general at this unexpected summons had communicated itself to me, but in a far different way; for I imagined that his Majesty desired only to confer some mark of favor on the gallant old general before parting with him. Yet did I not venture to suggest this to him, for fear I should be mistaken.
While I revolved these doubts in my mind, the door was flung open with a crash, and a page, in the uniform of the Court, rushed in.
“May I ask, sir,” cried he, breathlessly, “can you inform me where is the aide-de-camp of the General d'Auvergne? I forget the name, unfortunately.”
“I am the person,—Lieutenant Burke.”
“The same; that is the name. Gome after me with all haste; this way.” And so saying, he rushed down a flight of stone stairs, clearing six or seven at a spring.
“A hurried business this, Lieutenant,” said the page, laughingly; “took them by by surprise, I fancy.”
“What is it? What do you mean?” asked I, eagerly.
“Hush!” said he, placing his fingers on his lips; “here they come.”