It was something which in my excited state almost sent are off into a hysterical laugh—namely, my great, long-haired, white cat Blanchon, which had followed us into the tower, and now mounted upon the window-seat was growling savagely at the intruders. He was an odd creature, very fond of his friends, but formidable to his enemies, and he had this peculiarity, that he never mewed. A strange yell, which sounded like that of a human being in the wildest rage, when he flew upon his enemies, and a loud purr were all the noises he ever made. "Let him be. He will do no harm," said I. "He never makes any noise. What shall we do now?" as the mob made their onslaught on the gates with a savage yell which made me shudder. "Keep quiet," was the reply. "We are safe enough unless they set fire to the tower." In another moment the gate yielded, and the people poured in. Before one could speak they were all over the house, calling to each other and venting their rage at finding no one by breaking and destroying all before them. "To the old tower, comrades!" finally cried a voice. "There is the hiding-place." I suppose numbers gave the people courage, for I am certain not one of them would have dared invade the domain of the white chevalier alone. We heard the rush up the stairs and then the battering down of the door. Then there was a short pause. "Come on," cried the same voice, which I now recognized as that of Michaud, our old gamekeeper, whom my father had saved only to be murdered by him. "Come on. Who cares for ghost or devil?" There was a rush into the room, then a cry from those nearest the door. "Take care! The floor!" But it was too late. The loosened boards gave way, and down went a dozen men, Michaud among them, through a yawning gulf clear to the ground floor. "Back! Back! The tower is falling!" was the cry, while the shrieks of the men below added to the confusion. The tower was at once deserted, and we presently heard sounds which told us that the fallen men were being rescued from amid the ruins of the floor. "To the cellars!" cried now the voice of Pierre Le Febre. "Let us taste the old chevalier's wine and brandy." "Good, Pierre!" said Andrew. "Once let them get among the casks and bottles, and we are safe." "If Pierre does not get among them himself," said I. "I do not believe he will, and in any case we have the boat. But it is time we were stirring. Aunt, can you walk?" "Oh, yes! I can do anything you wish," answered my mother, in the same calm way. She seemed to have all her wits about her, but she did not speak unless we spoke to her. "Come, then," and he opened the door of the secret passage into which pussy led the way, majestically waving his tail and looking back as if to say, "Come on, and fear nothing! You are under my protection." I remember smiling, in all my grief and anxiety, at his air of patronage. I went first, after I had lighted the lantern, then came my mother, and lastly Andrew.