“If the dwarf lives through this, ’twill go hard with Achon,” said Marcilly. “If he lives!” I answered; “hark at the crowd roaring after him.” And from the distance we could hear the yells of the mob, as fickle as the breeze, now joined in hounding down the dwarf, whom but a moment before they had closed round in protection. “They’ll have him to a certainty!” said Marcilly. “I would we could have saved him.” I said nothing. There was nothing to say. It would have been madness to have drawn swords then with the enterprise we had in hand. We could not deviate from our course, but I was not satisfied with myself, and rode in silence, until we saw the Emperor’s Pistols, grinning over the gateway of the house in the Rue Parisis, and drew rein before the prison of Condé. An archer guard was at the gate, and a little way from the men Monsieur de Bresy, the same gentleman who had destroyed my house in Paris a year back, and who was now in charge of the Prince, stood patting the neck of a gray horse from which he had just dismounted. He flung the reins to a groom and turned to us. “Good-morning, gentlemen! I address Messieurs de Marcilly and de Vibrac, do I not?” “The same, monsieur,” and we bowed our greeting as we dismounted. “I was at the palace last night and saw you, as well as heard your names there,” said de Bresy, as if in explanation of his recognition of us. And then he added: “I fear, M. de Vibrac, you owe me no good will for what happened in Paris. I give you my word, however, that I could not restrain the men----” “That is quite possible,” I answered, and then, checking myself, for it was no time to quarrel, I went on: “We have made our peace at last. We have come here, however, to pay our respects to His Highness.” “Had you come an hour ago it would have been useless, but as it is I shall inquire if the Prince will receive you. I was sent for to the palace this morning, and informed that the Prince would be allowed henceforth to see a few friends daily--you are, I presume, of the number?” “Monsieur, and if there is any doubt on the matter, perhaps this will satisfy you,” and Marcilly held out the signet. De Bresy glanced at it for a moment without showing any surprise: “It is more than enough,” he said, and then as he looked again at Marcilly: “But for the weather that has touched your cheek, monsieur, and that you do not stoop so much, ’twould be hard to distinguish you from Condé.” We laughed, and I put my hand on Jean’s shoulder, saying: “You see here, monsieur, ‘The Shadow of Condé.’” “I shall take care,” was the reply, “that I do not mistake the shadow for the substance; will you enter, gentlemen?” and with these words he motioned us into the doorway, now opened by the guard. In the courtyard we were stopped for a few seconds, and de Bresy went off to announce our coming. When he went out of earshot, I remarked: