A pleader was taking off his gown at the door of one of the shops which from time immemorial have choked up this arcade, where shoes are sold, and gowns and caps kept for hire.
The Countess asked the way to the Conciergerie.
“Go down the steps and turn to the left. The entrance is from the Quai de l’Horloge, the first archway.”
“That woman is crazy,” said the shop-woman; “some one ought to follow her.”
But no one could have kept up with Leontine; she flew.
A physician may explain how it is that these ladies of fashion, whose strength never finds employment, reveal such powers in the critical moments of life.
The Countess rushed so swiftly through the archway to the wicket-gate that the gendarme on sentry did not see her pass. She flew at the barred gate like a feather driven by the wind, and shook the iron bars with such fury that she broke the one she grasped. The bent ends were thrust into her breast, making the blood flow, and she dropped on the ground, shrieking, “Open it, open it!” in a tone that struck terror into the warders.
The gatekeepers hurried out.
“Open the gate—the public prosecutor sent me—to save the dead man!——”
While the Countess was going round by the Rue de la Barillerie and the Quai de l’Horloge, Monsieur de Granville and Monsieur de Serizy went down to the Conciergerie through the inner passages, suspecting Leontine’s purpose; but notwithstanding their haste, they only arrived in time to see her fall fainting at the outer gate, where she was picked up by two gendarmes who had come down from the guardroom.