A dozen voices shrieked assent.  But I looked at the butcher only.  He seemed to be an honest man, out of his profession.

“Ay, I swear it!” he cried with a nod.

“By the Mass?”

“By the Mass.”

I twitched Croisette’s sleeve, and he tore the fuse from his weapon, and flung the gun—­too heavy to be of use to us longer—­ to the ground.  It was done in a moment.  While the mob swept over the barricade, and smashed the rich furniture of it in wanton malice, we filed aside, and nimbly slipped under it one by one.  Then we hurried in single file to the end of the room, no one taking much notice of us.  All were pressing on, intent on their prey.  We gained the door as the butcher struck his first blow on that which we had guarded—­on that which we had given up.  We sprang down the stairs with bounding hearts, heard as we reached the outer door the roar of many voices, but stayed not to look behind—­paused indeed for nothing.  Fear, to speak candidly, lent us wings.  In three seconds we had leapt the prostrate gates, and were in the street.  A cripple, two or three dogs, a knot of women looking timidly yet curiously in, a horse tethered to the staple—­we saw nothing else.  No one stayed us.  No one raised a hand, and in another minute we had turned a corner, and were out of sight of the house.

“They will take a gentleman’s word another time,” I said with a quiet smile as I put up my sword.

“I would like to see her face at this moment,” Croisette replied.  “You saw Madame d’O?”

I shook my head, not answering.  I was not sure, and I had a queer, sickening dread of the subject.  If I had seen her, I had seen oh! it was too horrible, too unnatural!  Her own sister!  Her own brother in-law!

I hastened to change the subject.  “The Pavannes,” I made shift to say, “must have had five minutes’ start.”

“More,” Croisette answered, “if Madame and he got away at once.  If all has gone well with them, and they have not been stopped in the streets they should be at Mirepoix’s by now.  They seemed to be pretty sure that he would take them in.”

“Ah!” I sighed.  “What fools we were to bring madame from that place!  If we had not meddled with her affairs we might have reached Louis long ago our Louis, I mean.”

“True,” Croisette answered softly, “but remember that then we should not have saved the other Louis as I trust we have.  He would still be in Pallavicini’s hands.  Come, Anne, let us think it is all for the best,” he added, his face shining with a steady courage that shamed me.  “To the rescue!  Heaven will help us to be in time yet!”

“Ay, to the rescue!” I replied, catching his spirit.  “First to the right, I think, second to the left, first on the right again.  That was the direction given us, was it not?  The house opposite a book-shop with the sign of the Head of Erasmus.  Forward, boys!  We may do it yet.”