“_Tudieu!_ My dear vicomte, it is not necessary for us to know as yet. Our business is to smooth the way for these gentlemen at the palace, and to see that a stout horse or two is ready if wanted.” “But to work in the dark----” “Exactly! We will take a lesson from the mole, and work in the dark for the present. The light will come to us later on. Now, we do not need it. And more, it has gone compline, and we must hasten. Here are the horses! Come, gentlemen!” Cipierre shrugged his shoulders, and finished his wine as the old count fastened the clasp of his cloak and led the way down-stairs, where we found the horses ready, and the light from the torches shining in scales of fire on the cuirasses of the governor’s guard. “To the palace,” said Cipierre, “by the Bourgogne!” And filing out of the narrow gate, a few steps brought us to the Rue Royale, across which we found the Bourgogne. Sancerre rode between Marcilly and myself, Cipierre a little ahead, sitting squarely on his Picard horse, and grimly silent. “One great difficulty we have to deal with,” said Marcilly, “is the coming of the Princess to Orleans.” “_Mon Dieu!_ You do not mean to say she is coming? Why, it is worse than folly!” “It is madness,” replied Jean. “I see,” said Sancerre; “the madness of a woman who loves. Ah! If we had but a little time.” What answer Marcilly would have made I know not; but now we came to the turning to the left, which led into the Rue Parisis, and Cipierre, suddenly reining back, pointed to a house, which raised its solidly built wall high over the others in the little square, saying in a low voice: “There!” Nothing more was wanted to tell us we were before Condé’s prison. Not a ray of light gleamed from the sullen walls, which looked down upon us with a chill blankness. The upper half of the building was in gray darkness, but there was an orange glow on the lower half, that reached to the crenellated balcony, caused by a huge fire that burned in the courtyard; and by the glare of this we saw four pieces of artillery grinning over the towers of the gate. “You should know those, Jean,” Cipierre went on; “they are the Emperor’s Pistols.” Marcilly laughed a little bitterly. “They are doing now for Guise what they never did for the Emperor,” he answered, as we rode on, crossing the Grands Ciseaux, over the broad, flat stones of the parvis of Ste. Croix, which stood a huge, shadowy phantom to our right, and halted at last before the palace gates. As we walked across the flagged courtyard my sleep of thought awoke once more within me. I forgot in a moment our perilous enterprise. All that was present in my mind was that I was near Marie, that I would see her once again whom I loved.