De Montigni pressed the old soldier in his arms; and then saying, "We shall meet again soon, Estoc, I hope in the King's camp," he sprang upon his horse's back, and laying his hand upon Rose's rein, to lead her forward through the darkness, set out upon the road to Dreux. Estoc turned back into the castle, closed the gates behind him, made a turn upon the ramparts, listened for a few minutes till he could hear no more the retreating sound of horses' feet, and then retiring to the guard-room, under the principal gate, dried himself by the blazing logs upon the hearth. In a few minutes, however, he gave some orders to one of the soldiers, who was sitting near, and then stretching himself upon a camp bedstead in the corner, was soon sound asleep. Everything remained quiet in the château during the night. Unconscious of what had taken place, those whose cunning schemes had been frustrated, remained in the tranquil slumber of imaginary success, dreaming of the coming day, and of seeing the seal put upon their intrigues by the voluntary renunciation of De Montigni's right, through which, not only the much coveted estates of Liancourt, but the hand of Rose d'Albret, and the inheritance which that hand conveyed, were, they thought, to be lost to him, for whom they were originally intended. The only person who slept but little, was the old commander De Liancourt, who, partly on account of the pain of his wounds, and partly from anxiety for his nephew's safety and success, lay tossing on his bed till within an hour of morning, wondering if all had gone right, and repeating, a thousand and a thousand times, "All is quiet! They must have got off; otherwise, I should have heard something." With the first dawn of day, some of the inferior servants began to stir in the house. The scullions proceeded to their abhorred task of scouring the brazen pots and kettles in the kitchen; the turnspit dog waddled slowly from the hearth, the scene of his daily toil, where he found warmth and repose during the night, to hide himself in some corner from the eyes of the persecuting cook; and various other drudges, well called _femmes de peine_, went through the different halls and chambers, clearing off that dust which rise from the decay of every earthly thing, and falls every hour--a memento, if we would but see it, of the perishable nature of all here below--upon the polish and the gilding with which we seek to cover all the coarse materials from our eyes.