Directly Zamara came back, carrying a heavy bundle in his arms. “Shall I prepare to attend, madame?” he questioned, anxiously. “No; the people would recognize you on horseback, and I must ride with speed. Follow the directions I have given, and keep guard at the door; be vigilant and cautious.” “Does madame find it necessary to say that to Zamara?” “Perhaps not: but there is danger here—great danger; a word, a look, might betray me. You have examined the house, and know all its entrances?” “All; there is a back door leading to the stables. No matter how fast it may be locked, you will find it ajar at any hour between this and to-morrow morning.” “Always on the alert! always anticipating my orders!” said the countess, patting him on the head. “At least, I have one faithful friend left.” Zamara lifted his dark eyes to the face she bent over him—they were full of tears. “There, there! we must not be children,” she said, giving the little figure a gentle push. “Go and order the horse to be saddled.” The dwarf disappeared, and instantly the door was bolted after him. When he came back, announcing himself with a respectful knock, a person, undersized, and with the air of one who had at some period of his life been a lady’s page, stood upon the threshold so disguised, that Zamara scarcely recognized his mistress. “Is the passage clear? Will no one see me go out?” “Everything is clear.” Zamara glided away as he spoke, and the page followed. Through a back door, only used by servants, across a yard strewn with worn-out vehicles, empty boxes, broken bottles, and refuse lumber, he led the way into the stables, where a horse stood caparisoned for the road. The page lifted himself to the saddle, and bending down, whispered, “No sleep; watch and listen till I come back.” Zamara smiled till all his white teeth shone again; then laying a tiny hand on his bosom, he bent low muttering, “Did Zamara ever sleep when his mistress was absent?” These words were lost in the clatter of hoofs, as horse and rider passed out of the stable. There was nothing about this page to draw particular attention; he might have belonged to any nobleman at this time in Versailles, and thus have passed unquestioned. A few turned to look at him as his horse trotted leisurely through the town, wondering to whom he belonged; but no one became really interested, and he passed away into the country unmolested. Some three or four miles along the road to Paris, the page saw two persons on horseback just before him—a man and a woman, who seemed to be urging their unwilling steeds to unusual exertion. The page touched his beast with the spur, and in a few minutes brought himself on a level with the travelers. Marguerite, when she saw a stranger so near, drew the hood of dark silk over her face, and made a fresh effort to urge her horse forward. Monsieur Jacques turned in his saddle, looked keenly at the new comer, and once more gave his attention to the road.