"Here I am," I said, in a low whisper.
"Silence!... Hold yourself in readiness. I will return when it is time."
He went away.
I remained for two hours absolutely glued to my door, my valise beside me. At last I saw a glimmer of light. It was the watchman. I turned to my dog, who was watching me uneasily. He pricked up his ears, and, sitting on the corner of a cushion in a chair, he understood that I was going away without him.
I caressed him, saying as I did so: "Kiki, don't make a noise. If you do, I am lost!"
He did not move, he did not bark, he did not even whine.
I was now beside the watchman at the threshold of the door.
"You must take off your boots," he whispered. "You will be heard."
He stooped down and removed my boots; then, taking charge of my small baggage, he conducted me forth, leaning on his arm.
With one last look I said good-bye to the familiar things which I had left in my room, and I again enjoined my good little dog to silence. I went along the corridor into which the rooms of my "lady-in-waiting" and the doctor opened. Thank God, the doors remained closed! Another corridor took us to a staircase by which we gained the ground floor. There, in almost total obscurity, I perceived a shadow, with one finger on its lips. It was the count....