In a moment the rope slackened and we knew that she had reached the ground. M. le Comte leaned out and looked down at her and waved his hand. “She is safe,” he said. “She has not been seen.” In a breath we had drawn the rope up again. “Now, Charlotte,” said M. le Comte; and I helped her to mount the window. “Mademoiselle,” I said hoarsely, “take this pistol. Conceal it somewhere in your gown; and if you are surprised, if you see there is no escape, use it.” For an instant she did not understand; then with a quick breath she held out her hand. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I shall not forget;” and she thrust the weapon beneath her cloak. “Good-by, my love!” I whispered; and with melting eyes she pressed her lips to mine. “My love! My love!” She smiled at me tenderly; then she passed slowly downward, out of sight. A moment more and she, too, had reached the ground. So concerned had we been in getting them safely down that neither of us had thought or ear for the tumult beneath our feet; but now, as we paused an instant to take breath, it seemed to me that it was mounting toward us. “You next, M. le Comte,” I said; “and do not wait for me. Get under cover of the wood, and I will join you--but do not wait too long.” He hesitated an instant, then sprang to the sill. “That is best,” he assented. “We shall wait for you at the edge of the wood directly west of the tower. You cannot miss us. And we will wait until you come.” He gripped my hand, caught the rope, and disappeared from the window. At the same instant I turned and darted down the stair. At every step the pandemonium below grew in volume until it seemed that all the fiends of hell were fighting there. The pungent smell of powder assailed my nostrils, and through the darkness I caught the flash of musket and pistol and the flare of torches. But with a gasp of relief I saw that the mob had not yet gained a foothold in the room. I sprang to one side where an angle of the wall shielded me from the bullets, and paused to look about me. The air was thick with smoke; and not until I drew quite near could I perceive Pasdeloup’s squat figure. He was standing at the head of the stair, a little to one side, his huge club raised in his hands. At that instant a shaggy head appeared and the club fell upon it, crushing it like a shell of glass. The body pitched forward quivering, and again Pasdeloup raised his club and waited, like the very god of death. As I silently took my place beside him I perceived that the sounds from below were not all yells of rage and triumph; there were groans among them, and oaths, and screams of agony; and as the smoke lifted for an instant I saw that the stair was cumbered with bodies.