I had not long to wait for proof of Simon’s wisdom in taking this precaution. We thought it prudent to keep within doors after our guest’s departure, and so passed the night in ignorance whether anything had happened or not. But about seven next morning one of the Marquis’s servants, despatched by M. d’Agen, burst in upon us with the news--which was no news from the moment his hurried footstep sounded on the stairs that Father Antoine had been set upon and killed the previous evening! I heard this confirmation of my hopes with grave thankfulness; Simon with so much emotion that when the messenger was gone he sat down on a stool and began to sob and tremble as if he had lost his mother, instead of a mortal foe. I took advantage of the occasion to read him a sermon on the end of crooked courses; nor could I myself recall without a shudder the man’s last words to me; or the lawless and evil designs in which he had rejoiced, while standing on the very brink of the pit which was to swallow up both him and them in everlasting darkness. Naturally, the uppermost feeling in my mind was relief. I was free once more. In all probability the priest had kept his knowledge to himself, and without him his agents would be powerless. Simon, it is true, heard that the town was much excited by the event; and that many attributed it to the Huguenots. But we did not suffer ourselves to be depressed by this, nor had I any foreboding until the sound of a second hurried footstep mounting the stairs reached our ears. I knew the step in a moment for M. d’Agen’s, and something ominous in its ring brought me to my feet before he opened the door. Significant as was his first hasty look round the room, he recovered at sight of me all his habitual SANG-FROID. He saluted me, and spoke coolly, though rapidly. But he panted, and I noticed in a moment that he had lost his lisp. ‘I am happy in finding you,’ he said, closing the door carefully behind him, ‘for I am the bearer of ill news, and there is not a moment to be lost. The king has signed an order for your instant consignment to prison, M. de Marsac, and, once there, it is difficult to say what may not happen.’ ‘My consignment?’ I exclaimed. I may be pardoned if the news for a moment found me unprepared. ‘Yes,’ he replied quickly. ‘The king has signed it at the instance of Marshal Retz.’ ‘But for what?’ I cried in amazement. ‘The murder of Father Antoine. You will pardon me,’ he continued urgently, ‘but this is no time for words. The Provost-Marshal is even now on his way to arrest you. Your only hope is to evade him, and gain an audience of the king. I have persuaded my uncle to go with you, and he is waiting at his lodgings. There is not a moment to be lost, however, if you would reach the king’s presence before you are arrested.’ ‘But I am innocent!’ I cried.