ood it, but he saw without
understanding.

"Monsieur," said he to St. Maline, "I see that you were told of the
importance of my mission, and that, fearing some accident for me, you
were good enough to take the trouble to escort me here: now I will tell
you that you were right; the king expects me, and I have important
things to say to him. I will tell the king what you have done for his
service."

St. Maline grew red and then pale; but he understood, being clever when
not blinded by passion, that Ernanton spoke the truth, and that he was
expected. There was no joking with MM. de Loignac and d'Epernon;
therefore he said, "You are free, M. Ernanton; I am delighted to have
been agreeable to you."

Ernanton waited for no more, but began to mount the staircase which led
to the king's room. St. Maline followed him with his eyes, and saw De
Loignac meet him on the stairs, and sign to him to come on. De Loignac
then descended to see the captives with his own eyes, and pronounced the
road perfectly safe and free for the king's return. He knew nothing of
the Jacobin convent, and the artillery and musketry of the fathers. But
D'Epernon did, being perfectly informed by Nicholas Poulain. Therefore,
when De Loignac came and said to his chief, "Monsieur, the roads are
free," D'Epernon replied:

"Very well, the king orders that the Forty-five guards form themselves
into three compact bodies, one to go before and one on each side of the
carriage, so that if there be any firing it may not reach the carriage."

"Very good!" said De Loignac, "only I do not see where firing is to come
from."

"At the priory of the Jacobins, monsieur, they must draw close."

This dialogue was interrupted by the king, who descended the staircase,
followed by several gentlemen, among whom St. Maline, with rage in his
heart, recognized Ernanton.

"Gentlemen," said the king, "are my brave Forty-five all here?"

"Yes, sire," said D'Epernon, showing them.

"Have the orders been given?"

"Yes, sire, and will be followed."

"Let us go, then!"

The light horse were left in charge of the prisoners, and forbidden to
address a word to them. The king got into his carriage with his naked
sword by his side, and, as nine o'clock struck, they set off.

M. de Mayneville was still at his window, only he was infinitely less
tranquil and hopeful, for none of his soldiers had appeared, and the
only sound heard along the silent black road was now and then horses'