med their officer, and the next minute I was
walking in the midst of my escort to the court, where a carriage stood
in waiting.

"Enter, monsieur," said the officer, who himself followed, while the
troopers mounted their horses.

I leaned my head against the back of the coach in a state of both
wonder and relief. Whatever else happened it seemed that I was not to
be taken to the torture chamber. The night was dark, but I could tell
that we were leaving the Bastille. Where were we going? I addressed
myself to the officer, but received only a curt "Silence!" in reply.

Did they intend to execute me without further trial? It might be
so--more than one prisoner had been hurried from the Bastille in the
darkness for that purpose. Might was right in those days, and justice
stood a poor chance of getting itself heard.

I could not discover in what direction we drove, but the journey was
long and apparently roundabout, perhaps in order to avoid attention.
The officer sat rigidly upright, with his sword drawn, keeping keen
watch and ward as if I had been a most desperate criminal. There was,
however, small chance of escape, even if I could overpower my guard.
The soldiers rode on each side of the coach, and I should have been cut
down instantly.

At last the carriage stopped, the officer opened the door and ordered
me to descend. We had halted in front of a large building, which at
first I failed to recognise. Several armed men stood on the top-most
step.

"At least the place isn't a prison!" I concluded, as the officer
hurried me to the entrance and along the corridor, while two of the
gentlemen in waiting followed close behind.

Nearly at the end, and on our right hand, was a door hung with rich
tapestry. Pushing the curtains aside, the officer knocked softly, and
then ushered me into a large apartment furnished in the most sumptuous
and magnificent manner.

"Albert de Lalande, your Highness!" he announced, and I looked quickly
at the man who stood up to receive me.

This, then, must be the renowned Conde who had restored lustre to the
French arms, though I held that the country had amply repaid the
brilliant soldier for his skill and valour. I was also one of those
who believed that winning a battle did not place a man above the laws,
nor give him the right to ride rough-shod over his fellows. Still,
Conde was a brilliant general, and certainly second to none save
Turenne; while there were not wanting