One other had, however, to be taken a sad farewell of--one whom there was no likelihood of their ever meeting again in this world--the unhappy Genevese, Falmy. At daybreak Bertie was at the window looking for him, and a few moments later he appeared at his; and the tears streamed down the former's eyes so as almost to blind him as for the last time he sent his message across to the opposite tower. "Farewell! I leave with De Chevagny," he signalled. "God ever bless you, and may He at last release you! Is there no message for anyone outside?" For, in spite of the promise he had given to take none from any prisoner, he felt absolved from it when he thought of the bitter agony of those incarcerated still. Indeed, such was the feeling of all who went forth from that living death. But Falmy shook his head sadly; then, listlessly, as though hopeless and heartbroken, he signalled back, "None; I have no friends. If I ever had any, they are dead or have forgotten me. Farewell!" and, with a look upon his face that Bertie never forgot, he left the window. Down through the corridors and passages they passed, away through the _corps de garde_, with, for the last time, their laced hats held before their faces, until they reached the wicket and so to the great gates which opened to admit their exit. And a moment later, as the great clock struck nine above their heads, they stood outside the prison walls.[Note D] They were free! CHAPTER XXX. THE MARQUIS GOES HOME. The turnkey had provided a _fiacre_ for them, and into this they stepped from the outside of the great gate, while Bluet; looking as sad as though he were parting for ever from his dearest friends, asked where the man should be instructed to drive them to? Strange to say, neither had given any thought to this matter, though, had Bertie been alone, no consideration would have been necessary on the subject. His mother's house would have been his destination; for, although often and often in his misery he had mused on whether she was still alive, and on whether she would ever fold him in her arms again, nothing would have kept him from going straight to Passy and at once resolving his doubts. But now, with De Chevagny by his side--a poor old man cast back into an unknown world after nearly half a century's exclusion from it--he could not leave him; he must be his first consideration. "Dear friend," he said, while still Bluet stood by the coach door, "have you thought of where we shall proceed to? Will you go to your own home first, or come to mine--if--if--God! if I have any left there. At least we will not part--or not now, not now." The poor, old marquis wrapped the dark blue cloak they had provided him with around him as the other spoke, for the December morning, although bright and sunny, was cold and crisp, then he said, "Home! to my home? What home have I?"