“Yes, very anxious,” said Mayneville, whose eyes never quitted the horizon.

“Mayneville, what can have happened?”

“I will go myself, madame, and find out.”

“Oh, no!  I forbid that.  Who would stay with me, who would know our friends, when the time comes?  No, no, stay, Mayneville; one is naturally apprehensive when a secret of this importance is concerned, but, really, the plan was too well combined, and, above all, too secret, not to succeed.”

“Nine o’clock!” replied Mayneville, rather to himself than to the duchess.  “Well! here are the Jacobins coming-out of their convent, and ranging themselves along the walls.”

“Listen!” cried the duchess.  They began to hear from afar a noise like thunder.

“It is cavalry!” cried the duchess; “they are bringing him, we have him at last;” and she clapped her hands in the wildest joy.

“Yes,” said Mayneville, “I hear a carriage and the gallop of horses.”

And he cried out loudly, “Outside the walls, my brothers, outside!”

Immediately the gates of the priory opened, and a hundred armed monks marched out, with Borromee at their head, and they heard Gorenflot’s voice crying, “Wait for me, wait for me; I must be at the head to receive his majesty.”

“Go to the balcony, prior,” cried Borromee, “and overlook us all.”

“Ah! true; I forgot that I had chosen that place, but luckily you are here to remind me.”

Borromee dispatched four monks to stand behind the prior, on the pretense of doing him honor.

Soon the road was illumined by a number of torches, thanks to which the duchess and Mayneville could see cuirasses and swords shining.  Incapable of moderation, she cried—­“Go down, Mayneville, and bring him to me.”

“Yes, madame, but one thing disquiets me.”

“What is it?”

“I do not hear the signal agreed on.”

“What use is the signal, since they have him?”

“But they were to arrest him only here, before the priory.”

“They must have found a good opportunity earlier.”

“I do not see our officer.”

“I do.”

“Where?”

“See that red plume.”

“Ventrebleu! that red plume—­”

“Well?”

“It is M. d’Epernon, sword in hand.”

“They have left him his sword.”

“Mordieu! he commands.”

“Our people!  There has been treason.”

“Oh! madame; they are not our people.”

“You are mad, Mayneville!”

But at that moment De Loignac, at the head of the first body of guards, cried, brandishing his large sword, “Vive le Roi!”

“Vive le Roi!” replied enthusiastically all the Forty-five, with their Gascon accent.  The duchess grew pale and sank down almost fainting.  Mayneville, somber, but resolute, drew his sword, not knowing but what the house was to be attacked.  The cortege advanced, and had reached Bel-Esbat.  Borromee came a little forward, and as De Loignac rode straight up to him, he immediately saw that all was lost, and determined on his part.