“Be off!” I cried again, for I feared every moment that a section of the watch would chance into the street. He doubtless had the same thought, for he looked about him with expectant eyes, but saw the street deserted. He glanced at me again, and I prodded him gently with my sword. He started as he felt the point and walked slowly away, muttering horrible curses and shaking his fists in the air in an ecstasy of rage. I had never before seen a man so wholly lose grip of his temper, and more than half expected him to fall in a fit. But he did not fall, only staggered from side to side of the street like a drunken man. I watched him until he faded from sight in the gathering darkness, and then turned back to the fugitive. She had apparently recovered from her exhaustion, for she arose as I approached and looked at me shyly. She was prettier than I had thought. “Well, Mademoiselle,” I said, “it seems I have rid you of your pursuer. Now whither shall I conduct you? Believe me, I am wholly at your service.” She glanced up into my face and went red, then white, then red again, and lowered her eyes in helpless confusion. Standing so, I could see her long, sooty lashes outlined against her cheek, the droop of the lids, the little nose, the shell-like ear--’twas enough to make any man play the fool. I confess, I had done it for much less. “I do not know, Monsieur,” she stammered, at last, “where you can take me.” “What?” I cried, astonished in my turn. “But your home, Mademoiselle; your family?” “It is from my home that I flee,” she answered, sadly, a little break in her voice. “It is my family whom I fear.” “But your friends?” I persisted, my heart warming towards her. “At least you have friends.” She shook her head, and I fancied I could see the tears shining beneath the lashes. “None who would not conceive it their duty to deliver me to my family,” she said, and stood knitting her fingers together nervously. I paused a moment in sheer bewilderment. Here was a problem! “Perhaps it is my duty also to deliver you to your family,” I remarked at last, but my heart was not in the words. “Ah, you would not say so, Monsieur, if you knew the story!” and she looked up at me beseechingly, her eyes bright with tears. There was no mistaking this time, and I, certainly, could not resist their appeal, which sent the blood bounding in my temples. “Come,” I said, “we must get away from here, at any rate, or your amiable uncle will return with reënforcements and surprise us. Take my arm, Mademoiselle.” She did so without hesitation, and I led her across the Rue St. Honoré and into the gardens of the Tuileries. The place was thronged with people, as it always is in the evening, summer or winter, and, deciding that no one could discover us among so many, I found an unoccupied seat under the trees near the river, where I installed her.