ed.

Going to my room, I removed my sword, which had been returned to me on
leaving the Bastille, and sat down. In a short time my worthy host
brought some food, for which I was really grateful, and I asked
cheerfully if any one had called at the house to inquire for me.

"A soldier of the Queen's Guards who comes every evening, monsieur. He
is a foreigner, I think, he speaks French so badly."

"Ah, an Englishman, a fine fellow, and my very good friend."

"There is also a young cavalier who comes from the Luxembourg to
inquire if you have returned. He it was who informed me that monsieur
had gone into the country."

"And they come every evening?"

"Without fail, monsieur."

"Then be sure to send them up the instant they arrive."

About six o'clock, observing Raoul approach the house, I withdrew
quickly from the window, so that he might be taken the more completely
by surprise. Suddenly the footsteps ceased, and I heard my friend
putting his question to the landlord. The answer was not
distinguishable, but it produced a remarkable effect. There was a rush
and a clatter on the stairs, the door of my room was opened quickly,
and Raoul threw himself into my arms.

"Albert," he cried, "I began to fear we should never see you again.
You are too venturesome, my dear fellow. Listen! What is that? Ah!
here is your English friend, and mine, too, now. He is a splendid
fellow."

"Back again, my friend!" cried John Humphreys, as he entered the room.
"You have had a long holiday this time."

"Longer than was agreeable," I answered, laughing, "but sit down and
tell me the news; I am dying with curiosity."

"So are we," observed Raoul; "we want to know all that has happened to
you."

"Didn't the story get abroad?"

"Only a little. We heard you were suspected of leading the attack on
Conde. In fact, there were people who swore they saw you fire, though,
naturally, I knew that was rubbish."

"Did you guess the truth?"

"Yes, and told Humphreys here. But I have not cried it from the
housetops."

"You were wise; it is an affair that requires delicate handling," and I
repeated the story of my adventures, from my disappearance to the
moment of my being liberated from the Bastille.

"The plot is no mystery to us," said Raoul thoughtfully, "but it will
be difficult to prove. We have not the slightest doubt that your
cousin Henri fired the pistol."

"Is he still in Paris?" I asked curiously.

"Yes, and