They arrived thus at the great ditch of the Bastile, which they crossed on a bridge improvised by the Leaguers the night before. The three cavaliers rode towards Charenton, when all at once the man on the right entered the forest of Vincennes, saying only, “Come.” The prince’s horse neighed, and several others answered from the depths of the forest. François would have stopped if he could, for he feared they were taking him to an ambush, but it was too late, and in a few minutes he found himself in a small open space, where eight or ten men on horseback were drawn up. “Oh! oh!” said the prince, “what does this mean, monsieur?” “Ventre St. Gris! it means that we are saved.” “You! Henri!” cried the duke, stupefied, “you! my liberator?” “Does that astonish you? Are we not related, Agrippa?” continued he, looking round for his companion. “Here I am,” said D’Aubigné. “Are there two fresh horses, with which we can go a dozen leagues without stopping?” “But where are you taking me, my cousin?” “Where you like, only be quick, for the King of France has more horses than I have, and is rich enough to kill a dozen if he wishes to catch us.” “Really, then, I am free to go where I like?” “Certainly, I wait your orders.” “Well, then, to Angers.” “To Angers; so be it, there you are at home.” “But you?” “I! when we are in sight of Angers I shall leave you, and ride on to Navarre, where my good Margot expects me, and must be much ennuyée at my absence.” “But no one knew you were here?” “I came to sell three diamonds of my wife’s.” “Ah! very well.” “And also to know if this League was really going to ruin me.” “You see there is nothing in it.” “Thanks to you, no.” “How! thanks to me?” “Certainly. If, instead of refusing to be chief of the League, when you knew it was directed against me, you had accepted, I was ruined. Therefore, when I heard that the king had punished your refusal with imprisonment, I swore to release you, and I have done so.” “Always so simple-minded,” thought François, “really, it is easy to deceive him.” “Now for Anjou,” thought the king. “Ah! M. de Guise, I send you a companion you do not want.” CHAPTER LIII. THE FRIENDS. While Paris was in this ferment, Madame de Monsoreau, escorted by her father and two servants, pursued their way to Méridor. She began to enjoy her liberty, precious to those who have suffered. The azure of the sky, compared to that which hung always menacingly over the black towers of the Bastile, the trees already green, all appeared to her fresh and young, beautiful and new, as if she had really come out of the tomb where her father had believed her. He, the old baron, had grown young again. We will not attempt to describe their long journey, free from incidents. Several times the baron said to Diana,-- “Do not fear, my daughter.” “Fear what?” “Were you not looking if M. de Monsoreau was following us?” “Yes, it was true, I did look,” replied she, with a sigh and another glance behind.