Replacing the sword carefully in its scabbard, he buckled it around his waist. Then taking a cloak from the armoire he enveloped himself in it, so as to completely hide the jeweled scabbard. This done, he went into his bedroom and drew from under his couch a small chest from which he took a purse containing some money. All these preparations he made quietly and with great deliberation. Returning to the sitting-room he unbolted and opened the door. All was quiet. A cat, that frequented the upper part of the building, and made friends with those who fed it, walked silently in through the open door and arching her back rubbed purringly against his leg. He went to the cupboard, and getting out a saucer filled it with the cream that was to have flavored his next morning's cup of coffee, and placed it on the floor. The animal ran to it greedily, and for a few moments St. Hilaire stood watching the little red tongue curl rapidly out and in of the creature's mouth as she lapped up the unexpected feast. Then giving a glance about the room, but touching nothing else in it, he extinguished the light and went out into the corridor, leaving the door ajar. When he passed out into the street he noticed that the rain had ceased. The wind blew freshly from the west and the night was cool. Drawing his cloak closer about him and allowing one hand to rest upon his sword-hilt, he walked rapidly away, humming softly to himself. In the room he had just left, the cat licked up the last few drops of cream in the saucer; signified her contentment by stretching herself, while she dug her forepaws into the carpet several times in succession; then jumped into his vacant arm-chair and curled up for a nap. The Citizen St. Hilaire had always foreseen the possibility of just such an emergency as now confronted him. He was quite prepared to meet it. On the other side of the river in the small and quiet Rue d'Arcis dwelt an old man. The house in which he lived, number seven, was also very old. It was large and rambling. St. Hilaire knew it well. As a child he had played in it. It had once belonged to him, and he had deeded it to an old servant of his father at a time when he regarded old houses as encumbrances upon his estates, and when aged servants had found no place in his retinue. If for no other reason, his family pride had caused him to make generous provision for a faithful retainer, and now that his own worldly fortunes were reduced, he knew where to find a home until he could carry out his plans for leaving the country. For some time past he had been forming such plans, but with his customary indifference to danger he had delayed their execution from day to day.