She broke into shrill, delighted laughter.

"I'll warrant you do! And I don't mean to do the thing by halves. No; I
shall save you, hide and hair. Be so kind, my lad, as to lift the
lantern from the hook."

I did as she bade me, and we followed her down the passage like
spaniels. She was so entirely equal to the situation that we made no
protests and asked no questions. At the end of the hall she paused,
opening neither the door on the right nor the door on the left, but,
passing her hand up one of the panels of the wainscot, suddenly she
flung it wide.

"You are not so small as I," she chuckled, "yet I think you can make
shift to get through. You, monsieur lantern-bearer, go first."

I doubled myself up and scrambled through. The old lady, gathering her
petticoats daintily, followed me without difficulty, but M. Etienne was
put to some trouble to bow his tall head low enough. We stood at the top
of a flight of stone steps descending into blackness. The old lady
unhesitatingly tripped down before us.

At the foot of the stairs was a vaulted stone passageway, slippery with
lichen, the dampness hanging in beads on the wall. Turning two corners,
we brought up at a narrow, nail-studded door.

"Here I bid you farewell," quoth the little old lady. "You have only to
walk on till you get to the end. At the steps, pull the rope once and
wait. When he opens to you, say, 'For the Cause,' and draw a crown with
your finger in the air."

"Madame," M. Etienne cried, "I hope the day may come when I shall make
you suitable acknowledgements. My name--"

"I prefer not to know it," she interrupted, glancing up at him. "I will
call you M. Yeux-gris; that is enough. As for acknowledgments--pooh! I
am overpaid in the sport it has been."

"But, madame, when monsieur your son discovers--"

"Mon dieu! I am not afraid of my son or of any other woman's son!" she
cried, with cackling laughter. And I warrant she was not.

"Madame," M. Etienne said, "I trust we shall meet again when I shall
have time to tell you what I think of you." He dropped on his knees
before her, kissing both her hands.

"Yes, yes, of course you are grateful," she said, somewhat bored
apparently by his demonstration. "Naturally one does not like to die at
your age. I wish you a pleasant journey, M. Yeux-gris, and you too, you
fresh-faced boy. Give me back my lantern and fare you well."

"You will let us see you safe back in your hall."

"I will do nothing of th