It was absolutely necessary for him to leave France for a time till things blew over, or Choiseul was out of power. Of course in a just age, he might have stood up to the business of the killing, called Javotte as a witness to the facts of the case, and received the thanks of society, not its condemnation; but in the age of the _Lettre de Cachet_ and of Power without mercy, flight was the only safe course, and this child of his age knew his age, and none better. It was two o’clock when he reached the Rue de la Harpe, adjoining the Rue de Longueville. Here he left the horse tied to a post for anyone to find who might, and taking the letter from his saddle-bag, repaired to his apartments. He let himself in with his private key, and without disturbing his valet changed his clothes, took all the money he could find, some three thousand francs in gold, tore up and burned a few letters and left the house, closing the door gently behind him. A nice position, truly, for the man who had sworn never to touch politics, alone in the streets of Paris at half-past two in the morning, with only a few thousand francs in his possession and the whole of France at his heels. But Rochefort, now that he was in the midst of the storm he had always avoided, did not stop to think of the fury of the wind. So far from cursing his folly and his position, he found some satisfaction in it. It seemed to him that he had never lived so vividly before. It was only a few minutes’ walk from the Rue de Longueville to the Rue St. Dominic, where Mademoiselle Fontrailles lived; one had to go through the Rue de la Harpe, and as he entered that street he saw the horse, which he had left tied to a post, being led away by a man. “Well, my friend,” said the Count, as he overtook the man, “and where are you going with that fine horse?” “Monsieur,” replied the other, “I found him tied to a post, and thinking it a pity to leave him there to be misused maybe, or stolen by the first thief, I am taking him home.” “Just so,” replied the Count, taking a louis from his pocket, “and, as I may be in want of a horse in a few hours, here is a louis for you if you will take him home, give him a feed, change his saddle and be with him on the road that leads from the Porte St. Antoine at eleven o’clock, that is, nine hours from now. Be a quarter of a mile beyond the gate, and if you will do this, I will pay you ten louis for your trouble.” “Monsieur, I will do it.” “Can you obtain a plain saddle in exchange for this one?” “I will try, monsieur.” “Do not try, simply rip all this stuff off and take the saddle-bag away, then it will be plain enough, take off the chain bridle and leave the leather, and remember ten louis for your trouble.” He handed the louis to the man, and went on his way.