“That is ended, madame,” I answered, my hand on my breast, my soul in arms for her.  Here, unless I was mistaken, was one more unhappy and more deeply wronged even than Kit; one too who owed her misery to the same villain.  “Were there nine glovers on the stairs,” I declared roundly, “we would take you out and take you home!  Where are your husband’s apartments?”

“In the Rue de Saint Merri, close to the church.  We have a house there.”

“M. de Pavannes,” I suggested cunningly, “is doubtless distracted by your disappearance.”

“Oh, surely,” she answered with earnest simplicity, while the tears sprang to her eyes.  Her innocence—­she had not the germ of a suspicion—­made me grind my teeth with wrath.  Oh, the base wretch!  The miserable rascal!  What did the women see, I wondered—­what had we all seen in this man, this Pavannes, that won for him our hearts, when he had only a stone to give in return?

I drew Croisette and Marie aside, apparently to consider how we might force the door.  “What is the meaning of this?” I said softly, glancing at the unfortunate lady.  “What do you think, Croisette?”

I knew well what the answer would be.

“Think!” he cried with fiery impatience.  “What can any one think except that that villain Pavannes has himself planned his wife’s abduction?  Of course it is so!  His wife out of the way he is free to follow up his intrigues at Caylus.  He may then marry Kit or—­Curse him!”

“No,” I said sternly, “cursing is no good.  We must do something more.  And yet—­we have promised Kit, you see, that we would save him—­we must keep our word.  We must save him from Bezers at least.”

Marie groaned.

But Croisette took up the thought with ardour.  “From Bezers?” he cried, his face aglow.  “Ay, true!  So we must!  But then we will draw lots, who shall fight him and kill him.”

I extinguished him by a look.  “We shall fight him in turn,” I said, “until one of us kill him.  There you are right.  But your turn comes last.  Lots indeed!  We have no need of lots to learn which is the eldest.”

I was turning from him—­having very properly crushed him—­to look for something which we could use to force the door, when he held up his hand to arrest my attention.  We listened, looking at one another.  Through the window came unmistakeable sounds of voices.  “They have discovered our flight,” I said, my heart sinking.

Luckily we had had the forethought to draw the curtain across the casement.  Bezers’ people could therefore, from their window, see no more than ours, dimly lighted and indistinct.  Yet they would no doubt guess the way we had escaped, and hasten to cut off our retreat below.  For a moment I looked at the door of our room, half-minded to attack it, and fight our way out, taking the chance of reaching the street before Bezers’ folk should have recovered from their surprise and gone down.  But then I looked at Madame.  How could we ensure her safety in the struggle?  While I hesitated the choice was taken from us.  We heard voices in the house below, and heavy feet on the stairs.