It was about four in the morning that I decided to move, and taking a last look at the place where I had lived so long in peace I went out into the street, followed by Pierrebon bearing the valise. I had to leave everything behind except the barest necessities and my money, and to trust the well-being of my goods to Fortune. The jade was unkind enough to forget me in this matter, which put me to heavy loss. It was, of course, impossible to leave Paris at this hour, as the gates would be shut; but behind the Abbey of St. Germain de Pres was a little hostel called the Chapeau Rouge, where I knew I could find shelter until I could procure a couple of horses and be off. At four in the morning night-hawks are abed, and even the convicts had ceased working on the Gloriette. The moon had gone, and it was dark now--the darkness that precedes the dawn. We met not a soul as we stumbled along, and coming out at length to the Vallee de Misere we passed the Gloriette, and kept to our right along the river face, until almost opposite the Church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois. Here moored to the bank were a number of boats, the boatmen sleeping within them. Groping about in the darkness--such noises as we made being fortunately drowned by the continual lap, lap of the water against the sides of the boat, and their creaking and groaning as they rubbed against each other--we at length found a small empty boat tied to a large one. Favoured by darkness, we loosened the knot, and, taking to the oars, crossed the river without being perceived by a soul. Once on the opposite bank we made the boat fast to some piles of wood near the water's edge, and leaving a piece of silver for the boatman, which I trust he found, we took the road to the Abbey of St. Germain. Near here we found a retreat in the scaffolding of a house that was being repaired. There we stayed until it was light, and about six in the morning arrived at the inn, as though we were early travellers who had entered Paris on the opening of the Porte St. Germain. In this manner, favoured by luck, and by the exercise of caution, I bade farewell to the Rue de Lavandieres, and gave Camus the slip, without leaving any trace behind me. The Chapeau Rouge was an inn mostly frequented by students, and in my younger days I knew it well, though, to be sure, more than a dozen years had passed since I last entered it. It was surrounded by a large garden, enclosed by a high wall, and I could have chosen no better place for my purpose, which was to lie close during the day, and, as soon as horses were procured, to depart at dusk, about the hour of the shutting of the gates. As it happened, on this day there was scarce a soul at the inn, all the usual customers having been drawn away to witness the execution of a Portuguese named Gomez, who had been found guilty of sorcery, witchcraft, and other crimes, and was to suffer in expiation on the Place Maubert.