ing my cap. The Seigneur and Madame stood at the door, but my
eyes were for a window where stood Alixe. The reflection of the far-off
fire bathed the glass, and her face had a glow, the eyes shining
through, intent and most serious. Yet how brave she was, for she lifted
her handkerchief, shook it a little, and smiled.

As though the salute were meant for him, Doltaire bowed twice
impressively, and then we stepped forward, the great fire over against
the Heights lighting us and hurrying us on.

We scarcely spoke as we went, though Doltaire hummed now and then the
air La Pompadour et La Friponne. As we came nearer I said, "Are you sure
it is La Friponne, monsieur?"

"It is not," he said, pointing. "See!"

The sky was full of shaking sparks, and a smell of burning grain came
down the wind.

"One of the granaries, then," I added, "not La Friponne itself?"

To this he nodded assent, and we pushed on.

II. THE MASTER OF THE KING'S MAGAZINE

"What fools," said Doltaire presently, "to burn the bread and oven too!
If only they were less honest in a world of rogues, poor moles!"

Coming nearer, we saw that La Friponne itself was safe, but one
warehouse was doomed and another threatened. The streets were full of
people, and thousands of excited peasants, laborers, and sailors were
shouting, "Down with the palace! Down with Bigot!"

We came upon the scene at the most critical moment. None of the
Governors soldiers were in sight, but up the Heights we could hear the
steady tramp of General Montcalm's infantry as they came on. Where
were Bigot's men? There was a handful--one company--drawn up before La
Friponne, idly leaning on their muskets, seeing the great granary burn,
and watching La Friponne threatened by the mad crowd and the fire. There
was not a soldier before the Intendant's palace, not a light in any
window.

"What is this weird trick of Bigot's?" said Doltaire, musing.

The Governor, we knew, had been out of the city that day. But where was
Bigot? At a word from Doltaire we pushed forward towards the palace, the
soldiers keeping me in their midst. We were not a hundred feet from
the great steps when two gates at the right suddenly swung open, and a
carriage rolled out swiftly and dashed down into the crowd. I recognized
the coachman first--Bigot's, an old one-eyed soldier of surpassing
nerve, and devoted to his master. The crowd parted right and left.
Suddenly the carriage stopped, and Bigot stood up