Marie de Clairvaut might be more timid than Catherine de Medici believed; but, when she thought of freedom, and of being delivered from the power of those whom she detested, to dwell once more with those she loved, she felt that scarcely any scene would be so terrible as to deter her from seeking such a result. She remarked, however, that the Queen did not once mention the name of Charles of Montsoreau, or allude to his fate. "What," she asked herself, "is he still to be kept a prisoner, while I am set at liberty? If so, liberty is scarcely worth having."
She paused, and thought for a moment, and then the hope crossed her mind of setting him at liberty herself.
"Surely," she said, "I could trace my way back to his apartments. I remember every turning well; and then, by bringing him through here, in the confusion and terror that now reign in the convent, I could easily give him his liberty too."
The more she thought of it, the more feasible the scheme seemed to be; and catching up an ordinary veil to throw over her head, she ran down into the apartments of the Queen, which she found, as she expected, quite vacant. She had no difficulty in discovering the corridor that led towards the rector's court. At the end there was a door which was locked, but the key was in it, and she passed through. Another short passage led her to the room where she had waited for the Queen, and where she had listened to Charles of Montsoreau singing; and then with a beating and an anxious heart she hurried on rapidly to the chamber where she had seen him last.
All the bolts were shot, showing her that he was still there; but exactly opposite was an open door at the top of a small staircase, which seemed to lead to a waiting-room below, for she could distinctly hear the tones and words of two men of the lower class talking over the events that were taking place without.
Gently closing the door at the top of the stairs, Marie de Clairvaut locked and bolted it as quietly and noiselessly as possible. Her heart beat so violently, however, with agitation, that she could scarcely hear any thing but its pulsation, though she listened breathlessly to ascertain if the slight noise of the lock had not attracted attention. All was still, however, and she gently undid the fastenings of the opposite door.
Charles of Montsoreau was seated at the table, and lifted his eyes as she entered with a sad and despairing look, expecting to see no one but the attendant. Marie was in his arms in a moment, however, and holding up her finger to enjoin silence, she whispered, "Not a word, Charles; but come with me, and we shall be safe! Every one is in the chapel at prayers; orders are given for my liberation; and in five minutes we may be at the Hôtel de Guise."
"What are all those sounds," demanded her lover in the same tone, "those sounds which I have heard in the streets? I thought I heard the discharge of firearms."
"I fear," she answered, "that it is my uncle's party at blows with that of the King. I know but little myself, however; only that we may make our escape if we will. I will lead you, Charles; I will lead you this time."
"Alas!" said Charles of Montsoreau as he followed her rapidly, "they have taken my sword from me;" but Marie ran on with a step of light, taking care however to lock the doors behind them as she passed to prevent pursuit.