But I said nothing of this, and Madame d’O was equally silent.  Like most countrymen I was ready to believe in any exaggeration of the city’s late hours, the more as she made no remark.  I supposed—­shaking off the momentary impression—­that what I saw was innocent and normal.  Besides, I was thinking what I should say to Pavannes when I saw him—–­in what terms I should warn him of his peril, and cast his perfidy in his teeth.  We had hurried along in this way—­and in absolute silence, save when some obstacle or pitfall drew from us an exclamation—­for about a quarter of a mile, when my companion, turning into a slightly wider street, slackened her speed, and indicated by a gesture that we had arrived.  A lamp hung over the porch, to which she pointed, and showed the small side gate half open.  We were close behind the other three now.  I saw Croisette stoop to enter and as quickly fall back a pace.  Why?

In a moment it flashed across my mind that we were too late that the Vidame had been before us.

And yet how quiet it all was.

Then I breathed freely again.  I saw that Croisette had only stepped back to avoid some one who was coming out—­the Coadjutor in fact.  The moment the entrance was clear, the lad shot in, and the others after him, the priest taking no notice of them, nor they of him.

I was for going in too, when I felt Madame d’O’s hand tighten suddenly on my arm, and then fall from it.  Apprised of something by this, I glanced at the priest’s face, catching sight of it by chance just as his eyes met hers.  His face was white—­nay it was ugly with disappointment and rage, bitter snarling rage, that was hardly human.  He grasped her by the arm roughly and twisted her round without ceremony, so as to draw her a few paces aside; yet not so far that I could not hear what they said.

“He is not here!” he hissed.  “Do you understand?  He crossed the river to the Faubourg St. Germain at nightfall—­searching for her.  And he has not come back!  He is on the other side of the water, and midnight has struck this hour past!”

She stood silent for a moment as if she had received a blow—­ silent and dismayed.  Something serious had happened.  I could see that.

“He cannot recross the river now?” she said after a time.  “The gates—­”

“Shut!” he replied briefly.  “The keys are at the Louvre.”

“And the boats are on this side?”

“Every boat!” he answered, striking his one hand on the other with violence.  “Every boat!  No one may cross until it is over.”

“And the Faubourg St. Germain?” she said in a lower voice.

“There will be nothing done there.  Nothing!”

CHAPTER VII

A young knight-errant.