It was De Ganache, however, who spoke. He had plucked up heart again after his weakness. "There is at least one gentleman here! Let him alone, monsieur! Plead not! After all, death is but death." But I stayed him with uplifted hand, and went on: "Monsieur de Montluc, you will ever regret this. Will you soil your glory with this act of shame?" Our eyes met, and the sombre fury in his look dropped before my gaze. I saw my advantage, and approaching closer to him urged him again, and to my joy he began to waver. Suddenly he turned from me, and walking to the battlements looked down himself, remaining there for a space amidst an absolute silence, broken but once by the uneasy clink of a spur. So he stood, and we waited breathlessly, for all hung on a hair; and then as suddenly he turned to us, his face looking older and more wrinkled than ever. "M. de Ganache," he said in a hard voice, "you are free. Guards, loose him!" Without another word or look he stepped forward, and began to limp slowly down the winding stair. CHAPTER XIV MADEMOISELLE DE PARADIS As the guards cut the cords that bound De Ganache's arms those who were on the tower crowded round to congratulate him; but he seemed dazed, and unable to realise his fortune. With an effort, however, he brought himself together, and silently took my hand. He could not speak, but I understood; and now Sarlaboux urged an immediate move, saying that the sooner De Ganache was away the better, as there was no knowing what might happen next. With this he led the way down, and we followed. On coming forth from the tower we found that the troops were already moving away, though many of the officers remained behind, and came up to us, out of curiosity to learn what had happened. At first we could not see Montluc anywhere, but a voice called out: "There is the General!" And looking, we saw a lonely figure in the distance galloping by the Marais de St. Hilaire. Then he turned the angle of the great priory. There was a flash of his red plume, a glitter of sunlight on his corselet, and he was gone. "If you take my advice, monsieur," I said to De Ganache, "you will be off at once. Here is a horse--and there is the open gate." And with this I placed the reins of my nag, which Pierrebon had brought up, in his hand. The enthusiasm of the moment caught all. Menorval of the Light Horse gave him a sword, someone else a hat, another a cloak. The colour came and went from De Ganache's sunburnt face as, stammering his thanks, he mounted. Then he put out his hand to me. "Monsieur," he said, "I can never forget; and De Ganache is ever your friend. _Au revoir_, gentlemen!" So, giving the reins to the horse, he galloped out of the gate, which was but a stonethrow distant. As he crossed the bridge he turned in the saddle and waved his hand in farewell, and then we lost him in the hollow ground beyond.