"With you, with you!" he cried.
"Well then," and she smiled sweetly into Jean Vilon's face, "go with this good man, and he will take you where you will always be with me."
The peasant stared at her transported. Amélie took off her sabots and followed him into the tunnel, Louis Pierre accompanying them. At first they had almost to crawl, for the passage was so narrow, but soon they were able to walk upright. After a while they reached a circular apartment whose roof was sustained by granite pillars and whose floor was strewn with dry herbs. Here Jean Vilon presented his charges with a basket of provisions there awaiting them. Bread, wine, cheese and milk constituted the refreshment, and their hunger made these seem delicious. Their guide was silent during the meal, tho his eyes of changeful hue were fixed from time to time on Amélie, in wonder and admiration. The white Breton coif on her head intensified the girl's great beauty.
When the frugal repast was over, Jean Vilon cast the lantern's light upon the wall; a rusty grating appeared, which he unfastened with a rusty key. Back of the grating they beheld another passageway, narrower still, high, inclined upward, and winding to the right, after ascending which they passed through several galleries, reaching at last an oaken door barred with iron. Jean applied a key to this, and it swung upon its hinges. They entered an octagonal salon, through which they passed on to another apartment wherein began a stairway which seemed interminable. Amélie, notwithstanding her exhaustion, resolutely moved on; but there came a moment when she tottered, for the lack of fresh air almost asphyxiated her. Jean hastened to support her and with the gentlest reverence, completed the ascent, his arm around her shoulders.
At the landing a current of fresh air revived her. They stood on the floor of an empty cistern. Stars shone overhead. Amélie realized that the arrangement was a military precaution for enabling the besieged to escape. Jean explained that there existed a tunnel from the cistern to a mine. They walked for a while along a subterranean passage. Suddenly Jean seemed to pass through the wall. He had but leaned heavily against it and thus disclosed a lane, so narrow that they had to push themselves sidewise through it. At length they stood in a large yard, near the foot of several tall gray towers overgrown with ivy. Amélie and Louis Pierre looked back for a last sight of the passageway which had conducted them thither. It had disappeared. No exit was visible and Jean smiled demurely at their amazement.
Then he placed a finger on his lips and, bidding Louis Pierre go ahead with the lantern, he approached one of the towers and pushed against the postern, which yielded. Then, with the air of a host, he preceded them up a winding stairway, across an antechamber and into a sumptuously furnished salon, brilliantly lighted with wax tapers in porcelain candelabra of crystal pendants. The apartment was an example of highly refined Louis Quinze taste; the caprice of a Marquise de Brezé, removed by a wildly jealous husband from court and incarcerated in the gloomy towers of Picmort. This most capricious Marquise had adorned her prison walls with the refinements and exquisite fantasies of Versailles, until death came at last to her amid flowers, satins and laces. The boudoir remained ever after untenanted, with its mythological paintings, gilded screens, voluptuous couches, blue celadon jars, silver, ivory and enameled ornaments. Even the Marquise's lace handkerchief remained where the dying lady's feverish hand had crushed it.
"My master has written that this apartment is to be occupied by you, Mademoiselle," said Jean. "It is called the Boudoir of the Marquise and the windows are always closed. There is a belief among the peasants to the effect that death should visit the castle if the windows be opened. You had best, therefore, in order to avoid comment, remain during the daytime in the rooms above. If you are seen from below, 'twill be thought that you are a servant-maid or my sister from Saint Brieuc."
"You are a prudent man, Jean Vilon," said Louis Pierre.
"A prudent and faithful man," said Amélie, smiling sweetly upon the Breton, as with the gentle dignity that so well became her, she seated herself in an armchair.
"And now, Jean," she said, "provide my fellow-traveler with a bed and room. I see my own here. Have a little mattress brought for the boy, as he does not wish to leave me," and she caressed Baby Dick's blond head as she added an assurance that she would be very comfortable.