'Monsieur,' said the King to me, reining in his restive horse, 'you will lead us straight to your lodging, next to the Toison d'Or.'
'Sire,' I made answer, 'but it will be necessary to leave the horses by St. Martin's, as their presence near the Toison d'Or might arouse curiosity and suspicion.'
'I understand, monsieur; have the goodness to lead on.'
I rode at the head of the small troop, nosing my way through the fog with my mind full of feelings it was impossible to describe, but with my heart beating with joy. Neither d'Aubusson nor de Vitry gave a sign that they knew me, and, but for an occasional direction that I gave to turn to the right or left, we rode in silence through the mist, now beginning to clear, and through which the moon shone with the light of a faint night lamp behind lace curtains. At St. Martin's we dismounted. There was a whispered word between the lieutenant and de Vitry, and then the King, de Vitry, and myself pressed forwards on foot, leaving d'Aubusson and the troopers with the horses. It would take too long, if indeed I have the power, to describe the tumult in my mind as we wound in and out of the cross streets and bye lanes towards the Toison d'Or. At last we came to the jaws of the blind passage, and I whispered to de Vitry that we were there. Henry turned to de Vitry and asked:
'Are you sure the signals are understood, de Vitry?'
'Yes, Sire.'
There was no other word spoken, and keeping on the off side of the road, to avoid passing immediately before the door of the Toison d'Or, where it was possible a guard might be set, we went onward towards my lodging. Favoured by the mist, which still hung over the passage, we got through without accident; but I perceived that not a light glimmered from the face of Babette's house, though I could hear the bolts of the entrance-door being drawn, as if some one had entered a moment or so before we came up. My own lodging was, however, different, and through the glaze of the window we could see the sickly glare of the light in the shop, where Monsieur and Madame were no doubt discussing the business of the day.
'We must quiet my landlord and his wife,' I whispered to Vitry as we came up to the door.
'Very well,' he said, and then I knocked.
The fence, who was alone, himself opened the door. 'Ah, captain,' he exclaimed, 'we thought you were lost; but I see you have friends.' He said no more, for I seized his throat with a grip of iron, whilst de Vitry laced him up with his own belt. An improvised gag put a stop to all outcry, and in a thrice he was lying like a log amongst his own stolen wares.