Anxious as I was about them, I looked round me very keenly as we flitted across the road, and knocked gently at the door.  I thought it so likely that we should be fallen upon here, that I stood on my guard while we waited.  But we were not molested.  The street, being at some distance from the centre of the commotion, was still and empty, with no signs of life apparent except the rows of heads poked through the windows—­all possessing eyes which watched us heedfully and in perfect silence.  Yes, the street was quite empty:  except, ah! except, for that lurking figure, which, even as I espied it, shot round a distant angle of the wall, and was lost to sight.

“There!” I cried, reckless now who might hear me, “knock! knock louder! never mind the noise.  The alarm is given.  A score of people are watching us, and yonder spy has gone off to summon his friends.”

The truth was my anger was rising.  I could bear no longer the silent regards of all those eyes at the windows.  I writhed under them—­cruel, pitiless eyes they were.  I read in them a morbid curiosity, a patient anticipation that drove me wild.  Those men and women gazing on us so stonily knew my companion’s rank and faith.  They had watched him riding in and out daily, one of the sights of their street, gay and gallant; and now with the same eyes they were watching greedily for the butchers to come.  The very children took a fresh interest in him, as one doomed and dying; and waited panting for the show to begin.  So I read them.

“Knock!” I repeated angrily, losing all patience.  Had I been foolish in bringing him back to this part of the town where every soul knew him?  “Knock; we must get in, whether or no.  They cannot all have left the house!”

I kicked the door desperately, and my relief was great when it opened.  A servant with a pale face stood before me, his knees visibly shaking.  And behind him was Croisette.

I think we fell straightway into one another’s arms.

“And Marie,” I cried, “Marie?”

“Marie is within, and madame,” he answered joyfully; “we are together again and nothing matters, But oh, Anne, where have you been?  And what is the matter?  Is it a great fire?  Or is the king dead?  Or what is it?”

I told him.  I hastily poured out some of the things which had happened to me, and some which I feared were in store for others.  Naturally he was surprised and shocked by the latter, though his fears had already been aroused.  But his joy and relief, when he heard the mystery of Louis de Pavannes’ marriage explained, were so great that they swallowed up all other feelings.  He could not say enough about it.  He pictured Louis again and again as Kit’s lover, as our old friend, our companion; as true, staunch, brave without fear, without reproach:  and it was long before his eyes ceased to sparkle, his tongue to run merrily, the colour to mantle in his cheeks—­long that is as time is counted by minutes.  But presently the remembrance of Louis’ danger and our own position returned more vividly.  Our plan for rescuing him had failed—­failed!