"_Oui, Monsieur_," said the little man, laying his hand upon his heart, with a profound inclination of his head, in which he contrived to get that organ completely out of sight, and, like a tortoise, to have nothing but his back visible. "_Oui, Monsieur_; I am _Cuisinier Vivandier_, that is to say, formerly _Vivandier_; at present, _Cuisinier Aubergiste ici à la porte de la Bastille, tout près_. I have the honour to furnish the dinner for Monseigneur, and I have come for the plates." "Oh, is that all!" cried De Blenau; "take them, take them, my good friend, and begone." The little man vowed that Monseigneur did him too much honour, and gathering up his dishes with admirable dexterity, he held the heap with his left arm, reserving his right to lay upon his heart, in which position he addressed another profound bow to De Blenau, and left the apartment. The prisoner now waited some time, getting more and more impatient as the day wore on. At length, however, the door once more opened, and Philip the woodman himself appeared. Between Philip and the young Count there was of course much to be explained, which, requiring no explanation to the reader, shall not be here recapitulated. Every circumstance, however, that Philip told, whether of his writing the letter to inform him of the plots of Chavigni and Lafemas, or of the manner and apparent reason of his being dragged from his cottage to the Bastille, concurred to give De Blenau greater confidence in his new ally; and perhaps Philip himself, from having suffered a good deal on De Blenau's account, felt but the greater inclination to hazard still more. Between two persons so inclined, preliminaries are soon adjusted: nor had De Blenau time to proceed with diplomatic caution, even had he had reason to suspect the sincerity of the Woodman. The dangers of his situation admitted no finesse; and, overleaping all ceremonies, he at once demanded if Philip would and could convey a letter from him to the Queen. Of his willingness, the Woodman said, there was no doubt; and after a moment's thought he added, that he had reason to hope that opportunity also would be afforded him. "It will be dangerous," said he, "but I think I can do it." "Tell me how, good friend," demanded De Blenau, "and depend upon it, whatever risks you run on my account, whether I live or die, you will be rewarded." "I want no reward, Sir," answered Philip, "but a good cause and a good conscience; and I am sure, if I serve you, I am as well engaged as if I were cutting all the fagots in Mantes. But my plan is this: They tell me, that my children shall always be allowed to see me. Now I know my boy Charles, who is as active as a _picvert_, will not be long before he follows me. He will be here before nightfall, I am sure, and he shall take your letter to the Queen."