It was two o'clock in the morning of Sunday, the 24th of August, 1573, when I reached the _porte-cochère_ of the Baron de Blancford. The whole town was still, and the soft, balmy air of the summer night fanned my cheek like the breath of love. The wicket was, as I had expected, open, and behind it was Moric Endem, armed only with the usual weapons of daily defence, with the addition of a pistol in case of need. He was masked, however, as it was agreed that we all should be; and, pointing to a small door on the other side of the court, he whispered, "By that door and up the stairs, sir, you will find Andriot and two others." I looked towards the porter's room, fearing lest the least noise should disturb those we wished to slumber. All was quiet, however; and, passing across the court, I found the door held open by Andriot. On the first landing-place of the stairs there was another of my men, and higher up a third. On the third landing there appeared a light shining through a door ajar, and I gently pushed it open and entered. It admitted me to a small anteroom, and watching on the opposite side was Albert of Blancford. The noble boy embraced me gladly; and, with a whispered word or two of joyful congratulation, led me into the room beyond. There stood Louise, somewhat pale and agitated; but the dear girl suffered not such feelings to veil or check her affection for the man she loved; and, starting forward from the side of old La Tour, she cast herself into my arms. I soothed and caressed her for a moment, while the good old pastor came forward and grasped me eagerly by the hand. The contract of our marriage lay upon the table; but we had many words to say to each other, and had not yet signed it, when the door behind us opened, and the baron himself entered. "Is it done?" he asked, anxiously: "has it taken place? Be quick, Henry! be quick!" he added, seeing that the contract was still unsigned. "I fear, and shall fear for your happiness, my children, till the act is irrevocable." Oh! happy interruption to words, every one of which occupied those moments that bore Fate upon their wings! Gladly we signed the paper; gladly we pronounced the vow that bound us to each other; gladly I placed the mystic symbol of eternal union on the hand of her I loved. "Now!" cried the baron, as soon as the whole was completed, "Now depart at once! You will find good Dame Marguelette without the walls at the spot where your horses wait. Bless thee, my Louise! bless thee! Be kind to her, Henry, and love none but her: be warned--be warned by what you have seen and know. Get thee to bed, Albert, and let all now be quiet in the house." Louise trembled a good deal, but I led her on; and gradually, as the severing from her father's house seemed more complete, she clung to me more closely. The baron, with his own hand, shut the door behind us, and, step by step, we descended the dark stairs.