Fortune had been both kind and unkind to me once more. On the whole I judged, as I lay in the darkness of the damp, wretched dungeon from which no escape seemed possible, that the balance was on the side of kindness. I had had a breath of fresh air. I had further evidence that the woman I loved loved me. I had come near to freedom with her. And I had the talisman which Bucknall had shrewdly used to gain access to her. I could feel it in the darkness, for I had unwrapped it. It was the slipper—my lady’s slipper that had caused all the trouble! As I pressed it passionately to my lips I felt the crackle of paper inside. A letter! What would I have given for a light by which to read it! Ah, yes, things looked black to me, but I blessed fortune nevertheless—on my own account, that is. I was filled with anxiety as to what would happen to the Countess between her grandfather and du Trémigon. There was one other matter, which gave me grave concern. When du Trémigon rode up to the Duke he had been followed by a servant on horseback, a particularly vicious-looking man with one eye. The light was not clear and I was not able to see distinctly. Yet I recognized him. Where I had met him, under what circumstances, I could not at first decide, but in the darkness of that dungeon all came back to me. He was the man whose wrist I had broken with my cudgel, when Mademoiselle had been attacked. He was evidently the leader of that assault upon her. She had spoken of the Queen’s despatch. Could it be that du Trémigon had instigated the attack? It must have been the case. I decided that the fact itself was of great importance, and that possibly I might use it in case of necessity. VI THE SLIPPER GOES TO COURT I got through the night somehow. The next morning—I knew it was morning, because some faint light had filtered through a slit near the roof, the most eventful day in my life, which had not been without its surprising incidents—was ushered in by a visit from the commandant of the prison. Why he honored me with his personal attention was not obvious, though I learned later that it was on account of an order of the Queen. Curtly enough he bade me follow him, which I did, nothing loth. Anything was better than the cursed oubliette. I fancy that I must have presented rather a sorry figure, for he was good enough to show me into a small room where there were some toilet conveniences, and I made myself as presentable as possible. Fortunately, my clothes—I had resumed my own, when I returned to du Trémigon—were of good material and a perfect fit, and I was rather proud of my figure, too. While there I read the note in the slipper. It was small, like the container, but very sweet to me: Monsieur, [it said], to see you again I come with Éspiau tonight. I bid you an eternal farewell and write what I dare not speak—I love you!