“Ah, it is the driver,” I cried. “Come, my friend, you are to take me to the Palais Royal as quickly as possible.” “I came for a woman, not for a madman!” he protested. “I am no madman,” I said. “Come,” and I opened my bag and gave him a louis. “This will pay you for your trouble.” “Where is the woman?” he asked. “She no longer has need of you.” He looked at me a moment with staring eyes. “Monsieur,” he said at last, “a crime has been committed here.” “I do not deny it,” I answered, “only it is not I who have committed it. Why, man, I want you to take me to M. d’Argenson at the Palais Royal. Do you think I should go there, if I had committed a crime?” “To M. d’Argenson?” he repeated. “Ah, ah--that is different. Come, Monsieur, I will take you,” and he sprang into his cart. I was beside him ere the words were spoken. “Make haste!” I cried, and leaned against the side of the cart, sick with apprehension. If I should be too late! He whipped his horse into a run and we bumped rapidly along the street and across the river to the quays. Here the crowd delayed us and we could proceed but slowly. At last we reached a side-street and turned into it at a gallop. In a moment we had crossed the Rue St. Honoré and were at the Palais Royal. I sprang from the wagon and up the steps into the ante-chamber just as the clocks were striking eight. I ran straight to the man who stood at the inner door. “Tell M. d’Argenson that M. le Moyne is here to make his report and that it is important,” I panted. He stared at me a moment in amazement and then disappeared through the door. In an instant he was back. “You are to enter, Monsieur,” he said, and closed the door behind me. D’Argenson was seated at his table, and he gazed at me in astonishment. “Good God, M. le Moyne,” he cried, “what has happened to you?” Not until that moment did I realize the strangeness of my appearance--my hair matted with blood, my clothing torn and filthy, an iron belt around my waist from which dangled a chain a foot long, my doublet red with Ninon’s blood. I did not wonder that the carter had believed me a madman, or that he had scented a crime. Briefly as possible I told my story, d’Argenson listening in silence to the end. As I finished, he struck a bell at his elbow. The usher entered instantly. “My carriage at once,” he said, “and send two men to a house in the Rue du Chevet of which they will see the street door open. They will find an old woman lying in the inner portion of the cellar, and will lodge her at once in the conciergerie.” The man bowed and withdrew. D’Argenson picked up the bag of money which I had placed on the table before him, and after a glance at its contents, threw it into a drawer, which he locked. “The wedding, you say, is to take place at nine o’clock?” he asked. “Yes, Monsieur, at the Church of St. Landry.”