The duke then, leaving the light where it was for precaution, groped his way to the cabinet, which he knew so well. He opened it, felt for the bottom shelf, and, to his great joy, found what he looked for. As a thief escapes with his booty, the duke rushed into the next room with his prey. Ten o’clock struck; the duke thought of his hourly visitors, and hid his ladder under a cushion, on which he sat down. Indeed, five minutes had not passed before Maugiron appeared in a dressing-gown, with a sword in one hand and a light in the other. As he came in one of his friends said to him, “The bear is furious, he was breaking everything just now; take care he does not devour you, Maugiron.” Maugiron made his usual examination; he saw a broken window, but thought the duke had done it in his rage. “Maugiron!” cried Schomberg, from outside, “are you already eaten that you do not speak? In that case, sigh, at least, that we may know and avenge you.” The duke trembled with impatience. “No, no,” said Maugiron, “on the contrary, my bear is quite conquered.” And so saying he went out and locked the door. When the key had ceased to turn in the lock the duke murmured,-- “Take care, gentlemen, or the duke will be too much for you.” CHAPTER LII. VENTRE ST. GRIS. Left alone, the duke, knowing he had at least an hour before him, drew out his ladder and carefully examined the fastenings. “The ladder is good,” said he, at length, “and will not break.” Then he unrolled it all, and counted thirty-eight rounds of fifteen inches each. “The length is sufficient,” said he, “there is nothing to fear on that point. Ah! but if it were some of those cursed minions who sent me to the ladder? If I attach it to the balcony they will let me do it, and while I am descending they will cut the cords. But, no; they could not be foolish enough to think I would fly without barricading the door, and I should have time to fly before they could force it. But what person in the world, except my sister herself, could know of a ladder hidden in her dressing-room? What friend of mine can it be?” Suddenly an idea struck him, and he cried, “Bussy!” Indeed, Bussy, whom so many ladies adored, Bussy was a hero to the Queen of Navarre, and his only true friend--was it Bussy? Everything made him think so. The duke, of course, did not know all his motives for being angry with him, for he did not know his love for Diana, and believed him to be too noble to think of resentment when his master was a prisoner. He approached the window again, and fancied he could see in the fog the indistinct forms of three horses and two men by the river. Two men. These must be Bussy and Rémy. He then looked through the keyhole, and saw his four guardians; two were asleep, and two had inherited Chicot’s chessboard and were playing. He extinguished his light.