A moment or two passed in this way, and then from the hurly-burly in the gateway the footsteps of two men—­one limped—­detached themselves and came nearer and nearer.  They stopped without.  A gleam of light shone under the door, and some one knocked.

She went to the door, and, withdrawing the bar, stepped quickly back to the bedside, where for an instant the light borne by those who entered blinded her.  Then, above the lanthorn, the faces of La Tribe and Bigot broke upon her, and their shining eyes told her that they bore good news.  It was well, for the men seemed tongue-tied.  The minister’s fluency was gone; he was very pale, and it was Bigot who in the end spoke for both.  He stepped forward, and, kneeling, kissed her cold hand.

“My lady,” he said, “you have gained all, and lost nothing.  Blessed be God!”

“Blessed be God!” the minister wept.  And from the passage without came the sound of laughter and weeping and many voices, with a flutter of lights and flying skirts, and women’s feet.

She stared at him wildly, doubtfully, her hand at her throat.

“What?” she said, “he is not dead—­M. de Tignonville?”

“No, he is alive,” La Tribe answered, “he is alive.”  And he lifted up his hands as if he gave thanks.

“Alive?” she cried.  “Alive!  Oh, Heaven is merciful.  You are sure?  You are sure?”

“Sure, Madame, sure.  He was not in their hands.  He was dismounted in the first shock, it seems, and, coming to himself after a time, crept away and reached St. Gilles, and came hither in a boat.  But the enemy learned that he had not entered with us, and of this the priest wove his snare.  Blessed be God, who put it into your heart to escape it!”

The Countess stood motionless, and with closed eyes pressed her hands to her temples.  Once she swayed as if she would fall her length, and Bigot sprang forward to support and save her.  But she opened her eyes at that, sighed very deeply, and seemed to recover herself.

“You are sure?” she said faintly.  “It is no trick?”

“No, Madame, it is no trick,” La Tribe answered.  “M. de Tignonville is alive, and here.”

“Here!” She started at the word.  The colour fluttered in her cheek.  “But the keys,” she murmured.  And she passed her hand across her brow.  “I thought—­that I had them.”

“He has not entered,” the minister answered, “for that reason.  He is waiting at the postern, where he landed.  He came, hoping to be of use to you.”

She paused a moment, and when she spoke again her aspect had undergone a subtle change.  Her head was high, a flush had risen to her cheeks, her eyes were bright.

“Then,” she said, addressing La Tribe, “do you, Monsieur, go to him, and pray him in my name to retire to St. Gilles, if he can do so without peril.  He has no place here—­now; and if he can go safely to his home it will be well that he do so.  Add, if you please, that Madame de Tavannes thanks him for his offer of aid, but in her husband’s house she needs no other protection.”