“And now tell me all,” he cried, after his first exclamation of wonder had found vent.  “How on earth do you come here?  Here, of all places, and by my side?  Is all well at Caylus?  Surely Mademoiselle is not—­”

“Mademoiselle is well! perfectly well!  And thinking of you, I swear!” I answered passionately.  “For us,” I went on, eager for the moment to escape that subject—­how could I talk of it in the daylight and under strange eyes?—­“Marie and Croisette are behind.  We left Caylus eight days ago.  We reached Paris yesterday evening.  We have not been to bed!  We have passed, Louis, such a night as I never—­”

He stopped me with a gesture.  “Hush!” he said, raising his hand.  “Don’t speak of it, Anne!” and I saw that the fate of his friends was still too recent, the horror of his awakening to those dreadful sights and sounds was still too vivid for him to bear reference to them.  Yet after riding for a time in silence—­ though his lips moved—­he asked me again what had brought us up.

“We came to warn you—­of him,” I answered, pointing to the solitary, moody figure of the Vidame, who was riding ahead of the party.  “He—­he said that Kit should never marry you, and boasted of what he would do to you, and frightened her.  So, learning he was going to Paris, we followed him—­to put you on your guard, you know.”  And I briefly sketched our adventures, and the strange circumstances and mistakes which had delayed us hour after hour, through all that strange night, until the time had gone by when we could do good.

His eyes glistened and his colour rose as I told the story.  He wrung my hand warmly, and looked back to smile at Marie and Croisette.  “It was like you!” he ejaculated with emotion.  “It was like her cousins!  Brave, brave lads!  The Vicomte will live to be proud of you!  Some day you will all do great things!  I say it!”

“But oh, Louis!” I exclaimed sorrowfully, though my heart was bounding with pride at his words, “if we had only been in time!  If we had only come to you two hours earlier!”

“You would have spoken to little purpose then, I fear,” he replied, shaking his head.  “We were given over as a prey to the enemy.  Warnings?  We had warnings in plenty.  De Rosny warned us, and we scoffed at him.  The king’s eye warned us, and we trusted him.  But—­” and Louis’ form dilated and his hand rose as he went on, and I thought of his cousin’s prediction—­“it will never be so again in France, Anne!  Never!  No man will after this trust another!  There will be no honour, no faith, no quarter, and no peace!  And for the Valois who has done this, the sword will never depart from his house!  I believe it!  I do believe it!”