“To sup with his Highness,” answered the Musketeer, keeping the Duke’s figure in sight as it threaded the jostling, shifting throng of noisy revellers. “But that is not till midnight,” she urged. “He said something about duty. You are brave! You are rash! For heaven’s sake, promise you will not rush into needless danger!” He laughed good-humouredly, and reassured her at once. “Danger! madame! Nothing of the kind. I can trust you not to gossip. It is a mere frolic. We are going a league or two out of Paris, _to raise the devil_!” And observing the Duke turning back for him, he escaped from her and was lost in the crowd. She looked longingly after him, and sighed. “To raise the devil!” she repeated, pressing both hands on her heart. “And not the only one to-night. Alas! you have raised one here that none but yourself can lay!” Then the Marquise, still retaining her disguise, passed hastily through the ball, till she reached the street, and gaining her carriage, was driven straight home to the Hôtel Montmirail, weeping, softly and patiently, behind her mask. CHAPTER XVI RAISING THE DEVIL The Black Musketeers on duty cleared a lane for the Regent at the door, and the lower orders, with whom, despite his bad character, a certain joviality of manner made him no small favourite, cheered vociferously as he passed. “The Débonnaire goes home early,” said one. “He has a child in the pot for supper,” shouted another. “I wish his Highness would ask me to eat with him!” exclaimed a third. “Or drink with him!” added a fourth. While a little hunchback, hideous and distorted, observed, in a dry, shrill voice, that made itself heard above all the clamour, “His Highness has a _rendezvous_, I tell you! Lads, where are your manners? Débonnaire! send me the bones to pick when you’ve done with them!” A peal of laughter and a volley of cheers followed his state-coach as it rolled off at a slow, lumbering trot, with which a man on foot could easily keep up. Captain George had been directed to do so, and accompanied it to the entrance of a gloomy narrow street, where the tall cloaked figure of Bras-de-Fer was waiting, according to orders. Here it stopped, the Regent alighted rapidly, and signing to his coachman to drive on, dived into a gulf of darkness, closely attended by the Musketeer and his comrade. A few paces brought them to an open _calèche_, drawn by a pair of English horses, driven from the saddle, and containing one solitary occupant, also enveloped in a cloak, who leaped out when he heard footsteps, and uncovered while he assisted the Regent to his place. He then seated himself opposite; Bras-de-Fer followed, his example; Captain George, at a signal from the Duke, placed himself by his Highness; and in a few minutes the whole party were across the Seine, beyond the barrier, which had been thrown back, and clattering along a paved road at a gallop through the open country.