We were by this time near the bottom of the stairs, and the light which had hitherto shone in through various small apertures in the masonry of the tower, now left us, as we descended apparently below the level of the ground. My pretty little guide, however, seemed to hold herself quite safe with me, though the situation was one which might have been hazardous with many men, and led me on without seeming to give a thought to anything but securing my safety, till we had passed through a long passage, at the end of which she pushed open a door, and at once ushered me into a small chamber, wherein an old woman was in bed. Startled out of a sound sleep, the good dame sat up, demanding who was there.
"'Tis I, aunt! 'tis I!" replied the girl; "where is my uncle's cloak? Oh, here; wrap yourself in that, monseigneur, and take this old hat, and no one will know you.--I will tell you all about it, aunt," she added, in answer to a complete hurricane of questions, which the old woman poured forth upon her--"I will tell you about it when the Count is safe in the street."
"Is it the Count? Lord bless us!" cried the old woman, wiping her eyes, and mistaking me for the Count de Soissons: "dear me! I thought monseigneur was safe at Sedan."
My fair guide now beckoning me forward, I left the old lady to enjoy her own wonderment; and leaving a piece of gold for the hat and cloak, thrust the one over my brows, and cast the other round my shoulders, and proceeded to a second chamber, where was an old man at work, who looked up, but asked no questions, though probably he saw his own cloak and hat on the person of a stranger.
Opposite to me stood an open door, evidently leading into a small street; and taking leave of my conductress merely by a mute sign, I passed out, and to my surprise found myself in the Rue du Four.
I had kept my own hat still under the mantle, which was, in truth, somewhat too small to cover me entirely; the point of my sword, my boots, and almost my knees, appearing from underneath, and betraying a very different station in life from that which the cloak itself bespoke. However, as thousands of intrigues of every kind are each day adjourned by the first rays of the sun that shine upon Paris, and as the parties to them must often be obliged to conceal themselves in many a motley disguise, I calculated that mine would not attract much attention dangerous to myself, if I could but escape from the immediate vicinity of the Hôtel de Soissons. I therefore walked straight down the Rue du Four, and passing before the new church of St. Eustache, I gained the Rue Montmartre, and thence crossing the Boulevards, was soon in the country. Pausing under an old elm, the emblematic tree of my family, I cast off the cloak and hat I had assumed, judging that I was now beyond the likelihood of pursuit, and walked as fast as possible towards Bondy. I arrived there in about a couple of hours, and found Achilles sauntering tranquilly before the door, while Combalet swaggered within to the new-risen host, hostess, and servants of the little inn, neither of my attendants expecting me for many an hour to come.
My order to horse was soon obeyed, and before mid-day I was safe at Meaux, where I gave but a temporary rest to my horses; and being joined by Garcias and the rest of my suite, I set out again with all speed towards Mouzon.
The necessity of borrowing another person's name was in those days so frequent with every one, that on my announcing myself to my servants as the young Baron de Chatillon, the nephew of the maréchal of that name, I caused no astonishment, and they habituated themselves to the new epithet with great facility.
Riding on before with Garcias, I now explained to him all that had occurred, which I had not had time to do before. My first piece of news, that Jean Baptiste Arnault was in existence, surprised him as much as it had done myself.
"I would have vowed," said he, "that what I saw before me, when I joined you on that morning in the park, was nothing but a heap of earth, which would never move, nor breathe, nor think again. It is very extraordinary! and now I think of it, Monsieur de l'Orme, I am afraid that I did you some unnecessary harm in the opinion of the Chevalier de Montenero. Do you remember that day, when we saved him from the fury of Gil Moreno? Well, as I was hurrying him away to his horse, I told him that his life itself depended on his speed; to which he answered, 'I would give life itself to be assured whether Louis de Bigorre did slay him or not;' alluding to something he had been speaking of with you. I thought as you did, that this Jean Baptiste was really dead; and therefore I replied at once, 'Slay him! to be sure he did--and did right too.'"