ou free."

I dashed in past the officer, snatching my lord's hand to kiss.

"It's true, monsieur! You're free! It's all settled with Mayenne.
Monsieur's seen him; he sets you free. He said, 'In recognizance of
Wednesday night.'"

Incredulous joy flashed over his face, to give way to belief without
joy.

"Now I know she's married."

"Nothing of the sort!" I fairly shouted at him, dancing up and down in
my eagerness. "She's to marry M. le Comte. She's at St. Denis with
Monsieur. She's to marry you. It's all arranged. Mayenne consents--the
king--everybody. It's all settled. She marries you."

Preposterous as it seemed, he could not discredit my fervour. He
followed us out of the cell and through the fortress in a radiant daze.
He half believed himself dreaming, I think, and feared to speak lest his
happiness should melt. I fancied even that he walked lightly and
gingerly, as if the slightest unwary movement might break the spell. Not
till we were actually in the open door of the court, face to face with
freedom, did he rouse himself to acknowledge the thing real. With a
joyous laugh, he turned to the keeper:

"M. de La Motte, you should employ your leisure in writing down your
reflections, like the Chevalier de Montaigne. You could give us a
trenchant essay on the Ingratitude of Man. Here are you host of the
biggest inn in Paris--a pile more imposing than the Louvre itself. Your
hospitality is so eager that you insist on entertaining me, so lavish
that you lodge me for nothing, would keep me without a murmur till the
end of my life. Yet I, ingrate that I am, depart without a thank you!"

"They don't leave in such case that they can very well thank me, most of
my guests," La Motte answered, with a dry smile. "You are a fortunate
man, M. de Mar."

"M. le Comte, will you come quietly with me to the St. Denis gate?"
d'Auvray asked him. "Or must I borrow a guard from M. de La Motte?"

M. Etienne's whole face was smiling; not his lips alone, but his eyes.
Even his skin and hair seemed to have taken on a brighter look. He
glanced at d'Auvray in surprise at the absurd question.

"I will come like a lamb, M. le Mousquetaire."

We saluted La Motte and walked merrily out into the Place Bastille. I
think I never felt so grand as when I passed through the noble
sally-port, the soldiers making no motion to hinder us, but all saluting
as if we owned the place. It had its advantage, this making friends with
Mayenne.

The