“I had little difficulty in extricating myself from the gardens, my Captain, for when I had disposed of Bras-de-Fer, there was no _real_ swordsman left. The Musketeers fight well, no doubt; but they are yet far from true perfection in the art, and their practice is more like our fishermen’s cudgel-play than scientific fencing. I wounded two of them slightly, made a spring at the wall, and was in the street at the moment you entered the Prince-Marshal’s carriage. My difficulty then was, where to conceal myself. I do not know Paris thoroughly, to begin with, and I confess I shuddered at the idea of skulking for weeks in some squalid haunt of vice and misery. I think I had rather have been taken and shot down at once.” “You would not have been safe even in dens like those,” interrupted the other. “Our Débonnaire is not so refined in his orgies but that I believe every garret in the Faubourgs is frequented by himself and his _roués_. Bah! when we drew pay from Louis le Grand at least we served a _gentleman_. The Jesuits would have been your best chance. Why did you not take refuge with _them_?” Eugène shuddered, and the pale face turned paler still, but he did not answer the question. “When we used to hunt the hare in Normandy,” he resumed, “I have observed that, if hard pressed, she would return to her form, and often thus made her escape, whereas the wolf and the stag, flying straight away, were generally run down. Like the hare, then, I doubled back and lay hid in the very house where I habitually lodged. It was the first place they searched, but they never came near it again; and the second day an old comrade found me out, took me to his own home, and furnished me with a disguise.” “An old comrade!” repeated the Captain. “_Bravo!_ Ah! we had always plenty of _esprit de corps_ in the Musketeers. It was Adolphe, I’ll wager a crown, or the young Count de Guiches, or Bellegarde!” “None of these, my Captain,” explained Eugène. “It was no Musketeer; Black, Red, or Grey. When I said comrade, I meant an old college friend. It was an Abbé. I know not why I should keep it secret. Abbé Malletort.” The Captain pondered. “Abbé Malletort!” said he. “That is more than strange. The Regent’s confidant; his chief adviser, men said; his principal favourite! He must have had some reason—some deep-laid scheme of double treachery. I know the man. A smooth-spoken churchman; a pleasant fellow to drink with, and a good judge of drill. But if it was his interest to betray the poor thing, I wouldn’t trust him with the life of a dog!”