She spoke with dignity; but Péron saw the tears shining in her dark eyes, and moved by an impulse he pressed her hand to his lips again as he rose to his feet. She drew it away with a deep blush.
“Go, monsieur,” she said shortly; “there is not a moment to lose, it is nearly two o’clock.” And with these words she left them.
Ninon lost no time in fulfilling her mistress’ instructions. She signed to Péron to follow her, and in silence they went through the winding labyrinth of the cellars until they came to a postern, which she opened cautiously; after looking out to see if all was quiet, she extinguished her taper and led the way into the rose garden of the château. The night was intensely dark, and Péron stumbled more than once in making his way among the thorny bushes; but at last they came to a terrace, and descending it found themselves by a low stone wall. As they reached this spot Péron heard a horse neigh and Ninon paused.
“Climb the wall, monsieur,” she said curtly, “and on the other side is your horse.—Adieu!”
She left him without waiting to listen to his thanks; and he did not linger, but vaulting over the low wall found his horse held by a groom, as Renée had said. In the darkness he could not see the man’s features, but he was expected.
“From Mademoiselle de Nançay?” asked the servant.
Péron replied in the affirmative and in a moment more was in the saddle, a free man again with his sword by his side. He took one last look at the dark outlines of the château, in which one light shone from the western tower, and then he set his face toward Paris, with a lighter heart than he had carried in his bosom since he left Brussels.
He made good progress, although he had to make a détour at Poissy to avoid the Golden Pigeon, and he did not halt until he reached Ruel, where he stopped only long enough to ascertain that the cardinal was in Paris. The ride was uneventful; and it was evident that mademoiselle had deluded his captors, for there were no signs of pursuit, and he rode down the Rue St. Honoré at last, with the message from Brussels safe in his bosom.
He did not pause even to arrange his disordered dress, but went at once to Richelieu to discharge his trust. The cardinal listened to his account with a grim smile.
“You erred in following—from idle motives—the stranger at St. Gudule,” he said calmly; “from that probably arose your troubles, which were a just and legitimate retribution. Otherwise you have done well and deserve well at my hands. You have to-day placed in my hands evidence that will convict the enemies of the state, that will open the eyes of the king to the peril in which we have stood, and show him whom he can trust. M. de Calvisson, there are two ways for a man to die: in doing his duty, or for betraying it—always choose the former.”