“Do you know no one?” he demanded.
“No one, sir; since my widowhood, I have seen no one.”
“Alas!” said Monsieur de Fombelle, lifting his eyes despondingly toward the ceiling, “and when I saw into what company I was cast, I believed I had found some assistance.”
“Was it not of your own accord that you came to me?”
“No, madam. A friend, who is actively endeavoring to assist me, but who scarcely has the means, for, like me, he is without money, appointed a place of rendezvous, after night-fall, in the open fields behind la rue Ceruti. I was returning from this rendezvous, when suddenly I found myself confronted face to face with my most mortal enemy—the same who had denounced me, and caused the decree against me. I endeavored to elude him, and had been running until almost exhausted, when a window, low and opened, attracted my attention. I obeyed my first impulse, made a spring, and found myself here. There was no one in the room, and, to guard against discovery, I closed the casement and the outer shutters; I lowered the curtains and concealed myself behind them. Scarcely had I done this, when you entered. As soon as you spoke, I recognized you, the wife of my best friend; I should certainly not have hesitated to have presented myself before you, but your good nurse was with you, and I believed it prudent to await her departure. In overhearing your conversation, I learned how your condition, once so happy, had changed since the sad events which have desolated our dear country, and I resolved to escape, if possible, without causing you fear or danger. Hence my immovability while you lifted the curtain; for I supposed that in the obscurity of the place you would not perceive me. But I ought not, madam, longer to interrupt your repose.”
“No, do not go,” replied Madam Cottin, “until you tell me if I can in any way assist you.”
“In three days I am to quit France; all is arranged, and my flight is certain, if I can accomplish what seems to be an impossibility—I must raise twelve hundred francs.”
“Twelve hundred francs,” said Madam Cottin, thoughtfully.
“Otherwise, since I cannot hope always to elude my enemies, I shall be lost.”
“Monsieur de Fombelle,” said Madam Cottin, after a moment of silence, “I have but few means, yet I have such a desire to assist you, that perhaps God will aid me. Day after to-morrow, at this same hour, you will find my window open; enter, and perhaps I will then have some good news for you. And now, adieu, sir! be of good cheer;—stop, take under your cloak this bread, and this bottle of wine. Leave me to close the window—the street is deserted, and not a soul is passing. Remember, on the night of day after to-morrow, at eight o’clock, be under my window; strike three times on the glass. If I have succeeded, I will reply to you; if not, I will not have the courage to answer. Go, now, and be assured that I will do all in my power to assist you.”