By this time the flames had attracted a number of people, who ran from all directions to gaze at the spectacle. Armand brought me back to my senses by saying, "We must make sure of Peleton, Albert, or he will escape." "Humphreys will guard him while you fetch a coach," I said, "then drive him straight to Conde." "And you?" "I shall stay here till--till----" "I understand. We will escort this fellow to the Hotel de Conde, and then return." My passion had exhausted itself by now; I could only stand bewailing the loss of my trusty friend. Meanwhile the crowd increased; soldiers appeared on the scene; men dashed buckets of water on the fire; some seized burning pieces of wood and flung them into the street where they could do no more mischief. I toiled with the rest, and gradually we got the flames under, but there was no sign of Raoul's body. One man we found was quite dead, and no one recognised him. What had become of the others? Some had dashed down the stairway in front of me, but I had left Raoul and Henri, Pillot and his companion, nearly at the top. Where were they, if not buried beneath the smouldering debris of the fallen staircase? Presently a roar of excitement came from the people behind me, and glancing towards the astrologer's house I beheld a man, hatless, bleeding, and scorched by the hungry flames, rush into the street. A hubbub of voices at once arose. "Bravo, monsieur!" "That's one who was in the house!" "He has saved one man's life!" "See, his face is cut!" At sight of him my heart for a moment stood still; then I called aloud "Raoul!" and, scattering the people right and left, ran, frantic with joy, toward the friend I had never again expected to meet alive. "Raoul!" I cried, "Raoul! Where have you been? I thought you were in the burning house!" "There was your cousin to save," he answered simply, flushing like a girl. "You risked your life to save his?" "Pshaw! I could not leave him to die like a rat. Then Pillot came with one of his fellows and we carried him through the secret passage into the next house." "Is he seriously hurt?" "I am afraid so; though Pillot calls his wound a scratch. But what of Peleton? Has he escaped?" "No! He is safe in the Hotel de Conde by now. D'Arcy and Humphreys took him there in a coach. But come, let us get away from this crowd, and visit the surgeon in the Rue Pierre. It is quite time your wounds were attended to." "It is scarcely worth the trouble; I can have that done at the Luxembourg." However, I managed to persuade him, and the surgeon, a man whom I had met more than once at the Palais Royal, bathed his wounds, applied some ointment, and lent him a hat. He was a wise man and asked no questions, though no doubt he learned in the morning all that he wished to know. Leaving the house we walked to the end of the street, when Raoul stopped, saying, "You had better not go any farther with me; Conde will be expecting you."