Muttering savagely, Pillot ordered the messenger to bring the carriage round, and, turning to me, said more calmly, "Monsieur, the plot has miscarried, and you must leave Paris. I cannot explain further, but you have no choice. Come with me quietly, or----" and he raised his pistol. My head began to swim again. The plot had failed! What plot? What had I to do with it? Why should these people wish to carry me off? Afterwards, when the truth came out, the affair seemed simple, so simple, that I was ready to laugh at my own stupidity. I tried to obtain some information, but Pillot stopped me promptly. I had never seen him so thoroughly roused; he dug his nails viciously into the palms of his hands; his eyes looked like those of a hunted animal. "Quick! There is no time to argue. It is a case of life and death for you and me, and perhaps for many besides. I wish you no harm, monsieur! I will save your life if you will let me." "Set me free," said I, "and I will save my own." "I cannot do that--for the sake of others." Francois had disappeared, but Pierre was in the room, and he toyed nervously with his club. I do not know how the dwarf would have acted, but there was no mistaking his companion's purpose. "An end to this," he exclaimed. "Come, monsieur--or stay!" and he flourished his huge weapon threateningly. "It is best, monsieur; it is really best," cried the dwarf. "Ah, _corbleu_, it is too late! Listen! There are the soldiers! Oh, monsieur, what can I do?" "Bah!" said Pierre, raising his club, "it is his life or ours." At that moment Francois, whose face was livid with fear and passion, burst into the room. "Fly!" cried he, "fly, while you have the chance!" "Is it the soldiers?" asked Pillot. "No, worse! Conde's ragamuffins, and they are yelling for M. de Lalande." At these words I was speechless with amazement, but Pillot cried, "The people? Conde's mob, did you say, Francois? Then there has been treachery. This is Peleton's work; he wishes to find revenge and safety at one time. Unbind the prisoner, Pierre. Quick, you dolt! I am no murderer, as M. Peleton will find. Monsieur, I give you a chance of your life let what will come of it. Francois, a sword! Here, monsieur, this way, and the saints preserve us!" I was free and armed: the door was open; yet I had never stood so near death since my first coming to Paris. From the terrible uproar one would have concluded that the inhabitants of every alley in the city had gathered outside. The street door was being smashed by heavy blows, and, as I ran out on the landing, a fierce mob swarmed up the stairs, screaming, yelling, and shouting for De Lalande.