think of
conspiring. It is like D'Harmental; they think they can attend to love
and politics at the same time. Triple fools; if they were to go at once
to La Fillon's for the former, the latter would not be so likely to
bring them to the Place de Greve."

Gaston returned joyously, reading and re-reading Helene's letter. "Rue
de Faubourg St. Antoine; a white house behind trees--poplars, I think. I
could not see the number, but it is the thirty-first or thirty-second
house on the left side, after passing a chateau with towers, resembling
a prison."

"Oh," cried Gaston, "I can find that; it is the Bastille."

Dubois overheard these words.

"Parbleu; I will take care you shall find it, if I lead you there
myself."

Gaston looked at his watch, and finding that it wanted two hours of the
time appointed for his rendezvous in the Rue du Bac, took up his hat and
was going out.

"What! are you going away?" asked Dubois.

"I am obliged to do so."

"And our appointment for eleven o'clock?"

"It is not yet nine."

"You do not want me?"

"No, thank you."

"If you are preparing an abduction, for instance, I am an adept, and
might assist you."

"Thank you," said Gaston, reddening involuntarily, "but I am not."

Dubois whistled an air, to show that he took the answer for what it was
worth.

"Shall I find you here on my return?" asked Gaston.

"I do not know; perhaps I also have to reassure some pretty creature who
is interested in me; but, at any rate, at the appointed hour you will
find your yesterday's guide with the same carriage and the same
coachman."

Gaston took a hasty leave. At the corner of the cemetery of the
Innocents he took a carriage, and was driven to the Rue St. Antoine. At
the twentieth house he alighted, ordering the driver to follow him; then
he proceeded to examine the left side of the street. He soon found
himself facing a high wall, over which he saw the tops of some tall
poplars; this house, he felt sure, was the one where Helene was.

But here his difficulties were but commencing. There was no opening in
the wall, neither bell nor knocker at the door; those who came with
couriers galloping before them to strike with their silver-headed canes
could dispense with a knocker. Gaston was afraid to strike with a stone,
for fear of being denied admittance, he therefore ordered the coachman
to stop, and going up a narrow lane by one side of the house, he
imitated the cry of the screech-owl--a