She stood in the shadow close against the wall, looking down the corridor. All was quiet. She put the key in the lock and tried it. It gave easily and she stepped inside, then shrank back against the door, putting her hand over her mouth to smother the little cry of surprise that had almost escaped her. She had thought to find maman, and in her place there was a thin, wispy-haired woman in a snuff-colored cape and close-fitting drab bonnet, with a greasy face and half-shut eyes. It was maman! As she stood there by the door Marie Josephine remembered something Great-aunt Hortense had said: “There never was any one like your mother, Marie, for play-acting. Ah, you children can’t believe it, but it’s true. The queen has begged her to join them at Versailles! She could do her beloved Molière characters best of all.” “Come, you’re sure you were not watched, little girl?” maman was saying. Marie Josephine nodded. “Then come at once—the back stairs—you know the garden door? I’ve never been that way myself. Quick, child!” The voice was the same! “You’d best talk like a woman of the people, citizeness, otherwise you are splendid in your disguise!” Marie Josephine clasped her hands together suddenly, looking up for a second into maman’s eyes. “Yes, yes, I know. I will remember, but be quick, child.” Maman put her hand on the door, and Marie Josephine stepped back into the hall, keeping close to the wall. There was only silence, except for the voices from the halls below. Marie Josephine never forgot the breathless flight through the familiar back halls of the great house. In spite of the tense excitement she thought how funny it was that she knew the halls so well, and maman knew them not at all! Roaming about houses had always been one of Marie Josephine’s chief delights! She tried to remember what Dian had told her: “Do not let fear keep you from doing what is right. Fear has no power.” She said this over and over under her breath as they went out the side door into the garden, and found themselves facing the grey wall that surrounded it. There were voices near by. She fumbled with the lock. It was rusty, and the garden door was a little swollen from recent spring rains. It did not give. “Hurry, child!” Maman’s voice sounded in her ears. She stood quietly with the key in her hands for a moment, trying to still the agony of fear that seemed to beat about her. “Fear has no power,” Dian had said. She felt a sudden freedom. She was doing right. She put the key in the lock again and turned it quickly. The door caught, moved a breath, then caught again. At last it gave! They were outside in a deserted long, grey street. Maman turned to her, and even in that moment of still great danger, put her arm around her. “You have done me good service, little one. I have children whom I shall see very soon. They are safe out of Paris, a son and two daughters. You—there is something about you a little like one of them. God bless you.”