He started to walk rapidly along the Rue du Roi de Sicile, past the prison front, towards the Rue de la Verrerie, and Louis, wrapped in the cloak, followed obediently and still half dazed. At last, at the corner of the Rue de la Verrerie and the Rue Saint Martin, Gilbert hailed a passing fiacre, and they got in. “Perhaps now I may thank you, or try to,” exclaimed the Vicomte as the vehicle started. “My dear Gilbert, has any one ever relied on you in vain? Though, indeed, I was not relying much on you or on anybody.” He slipped his arm into his cousin’s. The conflicts through which Château-Foix had passed had clothed his spirit—for the time being, at least—in a sort of exhaustion. He did not return the pressure, but he smiled—a little wearily—and said: “You have small need to thank me. You owe your release to—an enemy.” Louis appeared to reflect rapidly. “It’s no use—I have too many.” “It was Madame d’Espaze.” “The devil!” exclaimed the Vicomte. He seemed genuinely surprised. “I should never have dreamt of such a thing. But you must have asked her?” “I did.” Louis was evidently at a loss for an expression of his feelings. “You are amazing, Gilbert!” he said at last. “Did you actually interview her?” The Marquis nodded. “I didn’t think she cared enough,” said her admirer thoughtfully. “I suppose you worked on her feelings? Heavens, what a scene! So I owe my release to Célie—and to you. One must not forget the amiable Lecorrier too; I presume she got the order through him.” “Probably,” returned Château-Foix drily. “I did not enquire as to the means she proposed to adopt.” Louis laughed. “They have their humorous side. You must give me a full account some time. Parbleu, mon cher, but you must have been having the deuce of a time these two days!” “And yourself?” asked Gilbert. The Vicomte gave a shrug. “My only consolation was that the accommodation in the next world would be better. One has always understood that it is exceptionally good there. The company I would not have wished to change. Is this the Place des Victoires already?” At the hotel a sleepy servant, in response to enquiry, informed Château-Foix that a bed had been prepared for Monsieur’s new valet in the little dressing-room leading out of his own apartment, and within a few minutes the Vicomte stood, candle in hand, looking down at the sober grey suit which his cousin was placing on his pallet bed. The cloak, half slipping off his shoulders, displayed the elegance which he must discard for it. “I hope these will fit,” said the Marquis. “They are quite new; I got them this afternoon. What is to be done, I wonder, with the compromising clothes you have on?” Louis suddenly put down the candle, and impulsively, half laughing, half touched, laid his hands on Gilbert’s shoulders from behind. “My dear Gilbert, I don't deserve all this trouble!” “Don’t you?” asked the Marquis in an odd tone, turning round and facing his kinsman. “Don’t you? Why not?”