"Prepare your eyes for a hideous sight," muttered the voice, dull and grating like a saw.
"My deliverer cannot make me fear," she murmured.
The iron bolt grated, the door opened, and Madeleine beheld in the gloom the shapeless outline of the dwarf.
"Thank the night, lady," he said. "It is kind because it hides one of nature's failures. A spider, they say, once saved a Scotchman. A hunchback may do as much for a queen."
Madeleine stepped out to the balmy night.
"What made you come to my aid?" she murmured. "It is death for you."
"Lady," said Gaudriole, "I bow to the Church, because hypocrisy drives many a sinner to play the saint. When the fat Laroche calls me to my duty, I confess with my tongue in my cheek and burn a rushlight. That is for policy. Before you I am a Protestant. By myself I am a believer in living long and cheating the gallows. That again is policy. I hate the Church and its priests, therefore I have released you. Also, by some strange mischance, nature has placed a man's heart within this contemptible body. But let us hasten."
"The sentry!" exclaimed Madeleine.
"Look not in that direction," said Gaudriole. "Lady, which way? I will guide you to safety, stay by your side while I can serve you, and when you say, 'Back, dog!' I disappear."
"You have done murder," cried the girl. "Let me see. Stand aside. Ah, poor wretch! He was but doing his duty, and his blood is on my head."