"Oh, in pity, in pity, Charles," cried Marie, clasping her hands towards him, "do not; do not!" "No, no!" replied Charles of Montsoreau; "cut that rope from the window, Ignati. Bind him hand and foot, Gondrin, and leave him to the justice of those who come after." It was done in a moment; and Charles of Montsoreau only pausing once more for a moment to gaze on his brother's corpse, exclaimed with sincere sorrow, "Alas, poor Gaspar!" and then with a quick step led Marie de Clairvaut from that terrible chamber into the gardens and towards the postern gate. All was clear, and Charles of Montsoreau turned the key and threw the gate back. The moment that it was opened, two men darted forward from the other side, as if to seize the person coming out, and in one of them, though entirely changed in dress and appearance, Charles instantly recognised the Abbé de Boisguerin, who, before he saw that any one had accompanied Mademoiselle de Clairvaut, had caught her violently by the arm. The memory of a thousand wrongs flashed upon the young Count's mind in a moment; his sword sprung from the sheath, glittered for a single instant in the air, and then passed through the body of the base man before him, piercing him from side to side. The Abbé uttered a shrill and piercing cry, and, when the Count withdrew his weapon, fell instantly back upon the ground, quivering in the agonies of death. The other man who had stood beside the Abbé fled amain; but on the road, about fifty yards from the garden wall, stood a carriage with six horses and their drivers, with a group of some nine or ten men on horseback. On the Abbé's first cry the horsemen began to ride towards the spot, but the appearance of Gondrin coming through the low door behind the Count, and then the page, made them pause, hesitate, and seem to consult. In another moment or two the sound of horses coming from the side of the town caused them to withdraw still farther from the spot; and with joy that is scarcely to be expressed, Charles of Montsoreau saw his own colours in the scarfs of the horsemen that approached. In a moment after, he was surrounded by at least twenty of his own armed attendants: led horses, too, were there in plenty; and he now whispered words of hope that he really felt to Marie de Clairvaut, who clung almost fainting to his arm. "Stop the carriage, Gondrin!" he exclaimed, seeing the drivers in the act of mounting, as if to hasten away after the horsemen, who, on their part, had taken flight at the first sight of the young Count's followers. "We must make use of it, whether they will or not; but promise them large rewards. There is a mystery here I do not understand; but it is evidently some new villany. Come, dear Marie, come; we must not pause." And leading her forward to the carriage, he spoke to the drivers himself.