"No, no," replied the aubergiste, "not that at all; but that the tower which was called the prison-tower of the castle of Masseran had taken fire and fallen, crushing the dungeon in which you had been placed, and you along with it, in the ruins. The lady went half-distracted, though she would not believe that it was true till Father Willand himself went up near the castle, with a body of your men to prevent any of the Masseran people from taking him, and then came back and told her it was all too sure. He told her, besides, that the people of the castle vowed it was some one on her part seeking to deliver you who had set fire to the tower, and the good priest advised her to get across the frontier with all speed. But she was so cast down with grief that she seemed to care little more about herself in this world, and lay, my wife said, partly kneeling by her bedside, partly lying upon it, with her face buried in the clothes, and the sobs coming so thick and hard that it was painful to hear. She could not be got to speak or answer a word to any one; and in the midst of all this came in some one whom you know." "Who? who?" demanded Bernard de Rohan. The aubergiste whispered, in a scarcely audible voice, the name of Corse de Leon; and the young cavalier exclaimed, with feelings of as much joy as he could feel at that moment, "Then he is safe, at least; that is some satisfaction." "Ay, so far safe," replied the man, "that he is not killed as he might have been. But when he came here his left shoulder was out, and would have been useless for ever if he had not made four of us pull it in by main force, and never winked his eyes or uttered a word till it went in with a great start, and then only shut his teeth close." "But he could have told them," exclaimed Bernard de Rohan, "he could have told that I had escaped before the tower took fire." "I don't know how it is," replied the landlord; "but, sure enough, he thinks you dead as well as they do. He had a long conversation apart with Father Willand in that little room, out of the corner there, which you have never seen, and, mayhap, did not know of, for the door is in the dark, behind the closet and the chimney. What they talked about I don't know, but in the end I heard him say, 'Tell her nothing about it till she can bear to hear more. As he is dead, it matters not much how it happened.' Then the priest went to the lady, and, with great persuasion, got her down from her chamber, and made her take some wine, and, in the end, got her to set off, with some eight or ten of your people accompanying them. That was about twelve o'clock yesterday morning; and, in an hour or two after, the rest of your people went away over the mountains to join the good Marechal de Brissac, by the directions of the person you know." "This is unfortunate," said Bernard de Rohan, musing, "this is most unfortunate. Do you know which way the lady has taken?"