"He was seduced from his duty," returned Mad. d'Aulney; "but, I believe, has sincerely repented of his error, and is now anxious to atone for it. You shall judge for yourself. A few weeks since, he was so dangerously ill, that very faint hopes were entertained of his recovery; and, hearing that he was a stranger, and in many respects destitute, I was induced to visit him, and administer such comforts as his state required. What he termed my kindness, excited his warmest gratitude, and he unburthened his conscience to me, of the crime which seemed to lie heavily on it. He considered his disorder a visitation of Providence, inflicted as a punishment for his desertion; and he wished most earnestly to return to your service. I was pleased with the good feelings he displayed, but advised him to rest contented for the present, promising to aid his wishes if any opportunity offered; and, from that time I have seen little of him, till since your arrival."
"And you have now engaged his assistance?" asked La Tour; "well, be it so; once more in the open air, I fear not even treachery; and, furnished with a trusty weapon, I bid defiance to every obstacle that can oppose my freedom."
"Caution you will find more useful than strength," said Mad. d'Aulney; "and by its aid we have thus far succeeded, even beyond my expectations. This afternoon, I observed father Gilbert in conversation with Antoine; and, trusting to the sincerity of the latter, I soon after found a pretext for speaking with him, and cautiously introduced the subject of your escape. He was ready, at every risk, to assist in any measures which could be adopted; and informed me that it had already been discussed between himself and the priest, and that he was, this night, to stand sentinel at your door. Nothing could be more propitious to our views; and, in the course of the day, we have found means to arrange every thing, I hope, with perfect safety."
"This is indeed a kindness, a condescending interest, of which I am wholly unworthy," said La Tour, with energy; "how, Adèle, can I ever show you the gratitude, the"—
"Speak not of that, La Tour," she hastily interrupted; "think now of nothing but your safety; trust implicitly to the guidance of Antoine; and, I trust, it will soon be insured."
"And you," said La Tour, "who have generously hazarded so much to aid me—how can I be satisfied that you will escape unharmed? how can I leave you, in uncertainty and peril?"
"Believe me," said Mad. d'Aulney, "I am perfectly secure; Antoine will desert his post to go with you, and suspicion must rest entirely on him, and father Gilbert. The priest waits for you without the fort; and, once with him, pursuit will be unavailing, even if your flight is soon discovered; delay no longer, the morning watch approaches, and you must be far from hence, before another guard appears to relieve Antoine. These garments will sufficiently disguise you," she added, divesting herself of a loose robe and monkish cloak, which covered her own dress; "the soldier on duty will take you for a priest returning from the confessor's room, and you will probably pass unquestioned, as the priests, of late, have free access here at all hours."
"And whither do you go, and how elude observation?" asked La Tour.
"I have only to cross the passage, and descend a narrow staircase," she replied; "both of which were left to the vigilance of Antoine; and I shall reach my own apartment, without encountering any one."
A low rap was at that moment heard without the door; Mad. d'Aulney, at the sound, turned quickly to La Tour, and offering him her hand, with a melancholy smile, she said,