hem I
observed several monks. Seeing that they came and went unquestioned, I
took heart and hurried on my way in the direction of the great square.
Once a man rose from beside one of the fires and stopped me by seizing
my sleeve. He pointed to a woman who lay motionless on the road, and
I took him to mean that she was dying, and that he desired me to
administer the last offices of the Church. I sought refuge, however, in
the very little Latin that was left to me. "Ora pro nobis," said I, from
the depths of my cowl. "Te Deum laudamus. Ora pro nobis." I raised my
hand as I spoke and pointed forward. The fellow released my sleeve and
shrank back in silence, while I, with a solemn gesture, hurried upon my
way.

As I had imagined, this broad boulevard led out into the central square,
which was full of troops and blazing with fires. I walked swiftly
onward, disregarding one or two people who addressed remarks to me. I
passed the cathedral and followed the street which had been described to
me. Being upon the side of the city which was farthest from our attack,
there were no troops encamped in it, and it lay in darkness, save for an
occasional glimmer in a window. It was not difficult to find the house
to which I had been directed, between the wine-shop and the cobbler's.
There was no light within and the door was shut. Cautiously I pressed
the latch, and I felt that it had yielded. Who was within I could not
tell, and yet I must take the risk. I pushed the door open and entered.

It was pitch-dark within--the more so as I had closed the door behind
me. I felt round and came upon the edge of a table. Then I stood still
and wondered what I should do next, and how I could gain some news of
this Hubert, in whose house I found myself. Any mistake would cost me
not only my life but the failure of my mission. Perhaps he did not live
alone. Perhaps he was only a lodger in a Spanish family, and my visit
might bring ruin to him as well as to myself. Seldom in my life have I
been more perplexed. And then, suddenly, something turned my blood cold
in my veins. It was a voice, a whispering voice, in my very ear. "Mon
Dieu!" cried the voice, in a tone of agony. "Oh, mon Dieu! mon Dieu!"
Then there was a dry sob in the darkness, and all was still once more.

It thrilled me with horror, that terrible voice, but it thrilled me also
with hope, for it was the voice of a Frenchman.

"Who is there?" I asked.

There was a groaning, but no repl