She listened without attending, too much frightened to believe his words to their full extent, and striving to gain from the objects round about some more precise knowledge of her situation. She was evidently not in the Bastille; for the door of the room, instead of offering to her view bolts and bars, of such complicated forms that, like the mousetrap, they would have puzzled the man that made them, was only fastened by a single wooden lock, the key of which, like a dog's tongue in a hot day, kept lolling out with a negligent inclination towards the ground, very much at ease in its keyhole. The more Pauline gazed around her, the more she was bewildered; and after resolving twenty times to speak to the Norman, and as often failing in courage, she at last produced an articulate sound, which went to inquire where she was. The Norman, who had been walking up and down the room, as if waiting the arrival of some one, stopped in the midst, and making a low inclination, begged to assure Mademoiselle that she was in a place of safety. The ice being broken, Pauline demanded, "Did not I hear the voice of my maid Louise?" "No; it was my wife, Mademoiselle," replied her companion drily; and recommencing his perambulations, the young lady sank back into herself. At length a tap was heard at the door, and the Norman starting forward went on the outside, closing it after him, though not completely; and of the conversation which ensued between him and some other man, Pauline could catch detached sentences, which, though they served but little to elucidate her position to herself, may be of service to the reader. At first all was conducted in a whisper, but the Norman soon broke forth, "Sachristie! I tell you she got in. I did not catch her till she was coming out." "Monseigneur will be precious angry with us both," answered the other. "How I missed you, I cannot imagine; I only went to call upon _la petite Jeanette_, and did not stay five minutes." "And I just stepped into the _Sanglier Gourmand_," rejoined our Norman, "which is opposite, you know. There I thought I could see all that went on. But that _maraud_, Jacques Chatpilleur, was always at his door about something; so finding that I could not get my second bottle of wine, I went down to the _cave_ for it myself; and she must have passed while I was below." "How did you find out, then, that she had got into the Bastille?" demanded the other. The Norman's reply was delivered in so low a tone that Pauline could only distinguish the words--"Heard a scream--saw her running past like mad--threw the cloak over her, and brought her here." "Perhaps she was not in, after all," rejoined the other; "but at all events, we must tell Monseigneur so. You swear you caught her just as she was going in, and I'll vow that I was there and saw you."