“My Dear Duke,—You may entirely confide in the brave lad who will give you this note; he has consented to enter the service of your keeper and to shut himself up at Vincennes with you, in order to prepare and assist your escape, which we are contriving. The moment of your deliverance is at hand; have patience and courage and remember that in spite of time and absence all your friends continue to cherish for you the sentiments they have so long professed and truly entertained. “Yours wholly and most affectionately, “Marie de Montbazon. “P.S.—I sign my full name, for I should be vain if I could suppose that after five years of absence you would remember my initials.” The poor duke became perfectly giddy. What for five years he had been wanting—a faithful servant, a friend, a helping hand—seemed to have fallen from Heaven just when he expected it the least. “Oh, dearest Marie! she thinks of me, then, after five years of separation! Heavens! there is constancy!” Then turning to Grimaud, he said: “And thou, my brave fellow, thou consentest thus to aid me?” Grimaud signified his assent. “And you have come here with that purpose?” Grimaud repeated the sign. “And I was ready to strangle you!” cried the duke. Grimaud smiled. “Wait, then,” said the duke, fumbling in his pocket. “Wait,” he continued, renewing his fruitless search; “it shall not be said that such devotion to a grandson of Henry IV. went without recompense.” The duke’s endeavors evinced the best intention in the world, but one of the precautions taken at Vincennes was that of allowing prisoners to keep no money. Whereupon Grimaud, observing the duke’s disappointment, drew from his pocket a purse filled with gold and handed it to him. “Here is what you are looking for,” he said. The duke opened the purse and wanted to empty it into Grimaud’s hands, but Grimaud shook his head. “Thank you, monseigneur,” he said, drawing back; “I am paid.” The duke went from one surprise to another. He held out his hand. Grimaud drew near and kissed it respectfully. The grand manner of Athos had left its mark on Grimaud. “What shall we do? and when? and how proceed?” “It is now eleven,” answered Grimaud. “Let my lord at two o’clock ask leave to make up a game at tennis with La Ramee and let him send two or three balls over the ramparts.” “And then?” “Your highness will approach the walls and call out to a man who works in the moat to send them back again.” “I understand,” said the duke. Grimaud made a sign that he was going away. “Ah!” cried the duke, “will you not accept any money from me?” “I wish my lord would make me one promise.” “What! speak!” “’Tis this: when we escape together, that I shall go everywhere and be always first; for if my lord should be overtaken and caught, there’s every chance of his being brought back to prison, whereas if I am caught the least that can befall me is to be—hung.” “True, on my honor as a gentleman it shall be as thou dost suggest.”