"There is a post to Paris—you can hear their horses stamping now in the west court, and here, in good time, comes Blaise. Join these as if you formed part of the escort. Old Sir John has given orders at the gate, and no questions will be asked. Mount, Mademoiselle, take Mesrour, his motion is the smoother. No, Blaise, no, you must stay with me; God knows what will happen in Plessis to-night, and I may need you for as desperate a crisis as Mademoiselle has to face. Once outside the gate keep behind the troop, and at the river turn south, saying nothing. Is your length of stirrup right, Mademoiselle? Then mount, lad, and I'll talk as we go. Make straight for Sainte Maure; the fords are low, and there is no depth of water to fear. Ride through the village till you see an open door with a light set before it; it burns by order of the King sent yesterday. There horses are ready waiting, mount and ride on. In Chatellerault, at the Corne d'Abondance a second relay is waiting, good horses all and do not spare them. Have you strength, Mademoiselle?"
"Please God," I answered.
I saw him nod his head as we rode on in silence, a subdued clatter of life before us.
"At Poictiers," he went on slowly, but though he spoke to Lesellè his eyes were fastened on mine, "I think I would ride straight for the market-place. It was the King's order that—that—all should be as public as possible, and the people warned to attend. Yes, the market-place will be best; waste no time on the citadel, and ride in haste, ride with authority, assume the very powers of the Crown itself, and speak, if needs be, in Charles' name. Remember, that point once reached, delay is life to Monsieur de Helville. Mademoiselle, say what God and your heart bid you. Trust both, and have no fear. And now here are the gates, and there the Paris post is waiting. Lesellè, I think your uncle has held it back for us. He has a kindly heart, and in three hours I have come to know him better than in the last as many years. At times it takes the shock of death to bring men near to one another. Mademoiselle, you are very safe with this lad, young as he is. He is staunch, has a Scot's prudence, a Scot's long head, and a Scot's shrewdness, I can say no more. Lesellè lad, you ride a race for life."
"I understand, Monseigneur."
Few words, three only, and yet they gave me greater comfort than if he had protested devotion for five minutes: the man to have faith in is the man who says little but understands much.
"God bless you, Monseigneur!" I cried, stooping towards him as the gates swung open.
"And keep you, Mademoiselle," he answered, and caught my hand in both his. "From the House of Death to the House of Life; surely it is His mercy and His will, but oh! what a cost to France!"
With that, as the watchman called nine o'clock from the walls, we rode out into the night.