The streets, by reason of the cold, were quiet enough. No one remarked the two women as they flitted along under cover of the wall. Presently, however, the bell of a church close at hand began to ring for service, and the sound, startling madame, brought her suddenly, chillily, sharply, to earth again. She stopped. "What is that?" she said. "It cannot be compline. It wants three hours of midnight." "It is St. Thomas's Day," the woman with her answered. "So it is," madame replied, moving on again, but more slowly. "Of course; it is four days to Christmas. Don't they call him the Apostle of Faith, Margot?" "Yes, madame." "To be sure," madame rejoined thoughtfully. "To be sure; yes, we should have faith--we should have faith." And with that she buoyed herself up again (as people will in certain moods, using the strangest floats), and went on gaily, her feet tripping to the measure of her heart, and her hand on the precious packet that was to change the world for her. On the foullest mud gleams sometimes the brightest phosphorescence: otherwise it were not easy to conceive how even momentary happiness could come of the house in the Rue Touchet! The two women had nearly reached the Church of St. Gervais by the Grève, when the sound of a swift stealthy footstep coming along the street behind them caught the maid's ear. It was not a reassuring sound at night and in that place. The dark square of the Grève, swept by the icy wind from the river, lay before them; and though a brazier, surrounded by a knot of men belonging to the watch, burned in the middle of the open, the two women were reluctant to show themselves where they might meet with rudeness. Margot laid her hand on her mistress's arm, and for a few seconds the two stood listening, with thumping hearts. The step came on--a light, pattering step. Acting on a common impulse the women turned and looked at one another. Then slipping noiselessly into the shadow cast by the church porch, they pressed themselves against the wall, and stood scarcely daring to breathe. But fortune was against them, or their follower's eye was keen beyond the ordinary. They had not been there many seconds before he came running up--a stooping figure, slight and short. He slackened speed abruptly, and stopped exactly opposite their lurking-place. A moment of suspense, and then a pale face, rendered visible by a gleam from the distant fire, looked in on them, and a thin, panting voice murmured timidly, "Madame! Madame de Vidoche, if you please!" [Illustration: "'MADAME! MADAME DE VIDOCHE, IF YOU PLEASE!'" (_p_. 112)] "Saint Siége!" madame's woman gasped, in a voice of astonishment. "I declare it is a child!" Madame almost laughed in her relief. "Ah!" she said, "how you frightened us! I thought you were a man dogging us--a thief!" "I am not," the boy said simply.