The marchioness also—no doubt to add to the correctness of her masculine costume—had a pair of pistols in her girdle, a sabre at her side, and a cutlass in her right polena.
The cloisters were deserted; a death-like silence reigned in the convent.
"You can go without any fear," said the superior; "no one watches you."
"Where are the horses?" asked the marchioness.
"At a few paces from here," answered Emile; "it would have been imprudent to have brought them to the convent."
"That is true," answered the marchioness.
They still walked on.
The painter was very uneasy. The last question of the marchioness, about the horses, reminded him—rather late in the day—that he had never thought of providing them. Carried away by the rapidity with which events had occurred since the arrival of Tyro in the cavern, he had left everything to the Guaraní, without for a moment thinking of this little matter, which was, nevertheless, so important for the success of his project of flight.
"Confound it," murmured he to himself, "suppose Tyro has had no more memory than I! I could not, however, admit this unpardonable forgetfulness; besides, the principal thing is to escape from here."
The four persons rapidly traversed the corridors, and were not long in reaching the gate of the convent. The superior, after having cast a searching look through the grating, to assure herself that the street was deserted, took a key from the bunch hanging at her girdle, and opened the door.