Chicot looked round him to see if he could find no other way by which he could escape with the assistance of his long legs.  At last he saw what he wanted:  it was an arched window, of which the glass was broken.  Chicot climbed up the wall with his accustomed skill, and without making more noise than a dry leaf in the autumn wind; but unluckily, the opening was not big enough, so when he had got his head and one shoulder through, and had taken away his foot from its resting place on the wall, he found himself hanging between heaven and earth, without being able either to advance or retreat.

He began then a series of efforts, of which the first result was to tear his doublet and scratch his skin.  What rendered his position more difficult was his sword, of which the handle would not pass, making a hook by which Chicot hung on to the sash.  He exerted all his strength, patience and industry, to unfasten the clasp of his shoulder-belt; but it was just on this clasp that his body leaned, therefore he was obliged to change his maneuver, and at last he succeeded in drawing his sword from its sheath and pushing it through one of the interstices; the sword therefore fell first on the flagstones, and Chicot now managed to get through after it.  All this, however, was not done without noise, therefore Chicot, on rising, found himself face to face with a soldier.

[Illustration:  Chicot, on rising, found himself face to face with A soldier.]

“Ah! mon Dieu! have you hurt yourself, M. Chicot?” said he.

Chicot was surprised, but said, “No, my friend, not at all.”

“That is very lucky; there are not many people who could do such a thing.”

“But how the devil did you know my name?”

“I saw you to-day at the palace, and asked who was the gentleman that was talking with the king.”

“Well!  I am in a hurry; allow me to pass.”

“But no one goes out of the palace by night; those are my orders.”

“But you see they do come out, since I am here.”

“Yes, but—­”

“But what?”

“You must go back, M. Chicot.”

“Oh! no.”—­“How! no?”

“Not by that way, at all events; it is too troublesome.”

“If I were an officer instead of a soldier, I would ask you why you come out so; but that is not my business, which is only that you should go back again.  Go in, therefore, M. Chicot, I beg you.”

And the soldier said this in such a persuasive tone, that Chicot was touched.  Consequently he put his hand in his pocket and drew out another ten pistoles.

“You must understand, my friend,” said he, “that as I have torn my clothes in passing through once, I should make them still worse by going back again, and should have to go naked, which would be very indecent in a court where there are so many young and pretty women; let me go then to my tailor.”  And he put the money in his hand.