“Yes,” said the queen.

“Yes,” said Mary Seyton.

“Then follow me.”

The child went on his way, and after a few steps the fugitives found themselves in a kind of antechamber to the great hall, from which proceeded noise and light.  Several servants were occupied there with different duties; not one paid attention to them, and that a little reassured the queen.  Besides, there was no longer any drawing back:  Little Douglas had just entered the great hall.

The guests, seated on both sides of a long table ranged according to the rank of those assembled at it, were beginning dessert, and consequently had reached the gayest moment of the repast.  Moreover, the hall was so large that the lamps and candles which lighted it, multiplied as they were, left in the most favourable half-light both sides of the apartment, in which fifteen or twenty servants were coming and going.  The queen and Mary Seyton mingled with this crowd, which was too much occupied to notice them, and without stopping, without slackening, without looking back, they crossed the whole length of the hall, reached the other door, and found themselves in the vestibule corresponding to the one they had passed through on coming in.  The queen set down her jug there, Mary Seyton her basket, and both, still led by the child, entered a corridor at the end of which they found themselves in the courtyard.  A patrol was passing at the moment, but he took no notice of them.

The child made his way towards the garden, still followed by the two women.  There, for no little while, it was necessary to try which of all the keys opened the door; it—­was a time of inexpressible anxiety.  At last the key turned in the lock, the door opened; the queen and Mary Seyton rushed into the garden.  The child closed the door behind them.

About two-thirds of the way across, Little Douglas held out his hand as a sign to them to stop; then, putting down the casket and the keys on the ground, he placed his hands together, and blowing into them, thrice imitated the owl’s cry so well that it was impossible to believe that a human voice was uttering the sounds; then, picking up the casket and the keys, he kept on his way on tiptoe and with an attentive ear.  On getting near the wall, they again stopped, and after a moment’s anxious waiting they heard a groan, then something like the sound of a falling body.  Some seconds later the owl’s cry was—­answered by a tu-whit-tu-whoo.

“It is over,” Little Douglas said calmly; “come.”

“What is over?” asked the queen; “and what is that groan we heard?”

“There was a sentry at the door on to the lake,” the child answered, “but he is no longer there.”

The queen felt her heart’s blood grow cold, at the same tine that a chilly sweat broke out to the roots of her hair; for she perfectly understood:  an unfortunate being had just lost his life on her account.  Tottering, she leaned on Mary Seyton, who herself felt her strength giving way.  Meanwhile Little Douglas was trying the keys:  the second opened the door.