“Yes, monsieur,” said Pasdeloup, laughing grimly. “Even Joseph. Even Marcelle. I do not say that they wished to go. I only know that they were afraid to stay. Where it is a question of one’s life or another’s, one saves oneself. That is human nature.” M. le Comte stood yet a moment with bent head, as though struck by a heavy blow. “And you?” he asked at last, looking at Pasdeloup. Again Pasdeloup laughed grimly. “It is my nature, too,” he said. “Only I am not so easily frightened. Permit me to remind you, M. le Comte,” he added, “that there is no time to lose.” His master controlled his emotion by a mighty effort. “You are right,” he said. “We must get away.” “There is a break in the line of sentries,” I suggested. “Perhaps we can get through;” but my heart fell as I thought how nearly impossible it was. “At least we can try. Do you get Charlotte, monsieur. I will bring madame.” I sped along the corridor, pausing only an instant at my room to snatch up sword and pistols and ammunition-pouch. Mlle. de Chambray was awaiting me, wrapped to the chin in a dark cloak, more beautiful than ever. “I am ready, monsieur,” she murmured, her eyes shining like twin stars. “There is yet a chance,” I said. “Come;” and I took her hand. “I love you!” I whispered as we sped down the corridor together. “Whatever happens to me to-night, remember--I love you!” She replied with a pressure of the fingers and a little tremulous smile. “I shall remember,” she said softly. “Is our case, then, so very desperate?” “It could not well be more so.” “My friend,” she whispered, still more softly, “tell me that you forgive me----” From the garden came the shrill cry of an owl, thrice repeated. “Too late!” I groaned. “Too late!” We were at M. le Comte’s door. Pasdeloup was leaning against the wall, his arms folded, his face very grim. My companion shrank back with a little gasp of dismay at sight of him. “He is a friend,” I said. “Where is M. le Comte?” As though in answer to the question, the door opened and M. le Comte appeared on the threshold, his wife at his side. “We are too late!” I cried. “The signal has been given--the sentries are closing in. A moment more----” A great crash echoed through the house, a sound of breaking glass, a clamor of muskets beating against door and shutter. “To the tower!” cried M. le Comte. “This way!” We followed him around a turn in the corridor, down a short flight of steps and along another corridor so dark that, trembling at my temerity, I passed my arm about my companion and pressed her to me in order that she might not fall. “We shall escape!” I whispered. “We shall escape! God will not permit us to be killed like this!” I fancied that she drew closer to me, but I could not see her face.