Having double-locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, Dagobert descended the stairs at two bounds, and found himself in a passage, that opened on the court-yard.  The gate of the inn was shut, and there was no possibility of escape on that side.  The rain fell in torrents.  He could see through the window of a parlor, in which a fire was burning, the host and his people waiting for the decision of the burgomaster.  To bolt the door of the passage, and thus intercept all communication with the yard, was for the soldier the affair of an instant, and he hastened upstairs again to rejoin the orphans.

Morok, recovering from his surprise, was calling for help with all his might; but, even if the distance had permitted him to be heard, the noise of the wind and rain would have drowned his outcries.  Dagobert had about an hour before him, for it would require some time to elapse before the length of his interview with the magistrate would excite astonishment; and, suspicion or fear once awakened, it would be necessary to break open two doors—­that which separated the passage from the court-yard, and that of the room in which the burgomaster and the Prophet were confined.

“My children, it is now time to prove that you have a soldier’s blood in your veins,” said Dagobert, as he entered abruptly the chamber of the young girls, who were terrified at the racket they had heard for some minutes.

“Good heaven, Dagobert! what has happened?” cried Blanche.

“What do you wish us to do?” added Rose.

Without answering, the soldier ran to the bed, tore off the sheets, tied them strongly together, made a knot at one end, passed it over the top of the left half of the casement, and so shut it in.  Thus made fast by the size of the knot, which could not slip through, the sheets, floating on the outside, touched the ground.  The second half of the window was left open, to afford a passage to the fugitives.

The veteran next took his knapsack, the children’s portmanteau, and the reindeer pelisse, and threw them all out of the window, making a sign to Spoil-sport to follow, to watch over them.  The dog did not hesitate, but disappeared at a single bound.  Rose and Blanche looked at Dagobert in amazement, without uttering a word.

“Now, children,” said he to them, “the doors of the inn are shut, and it is by this way,” pointing to the window, “that we must pass—­if we would not be arrested, put in prison—­you in one place, and I in the other—­and have our journey altogether knocked on the head.”

“Arrested! put in prison!” cried Rose.

“Separated from you!” exclaimed Blanche.

“Yes, my poor children!—­They have killed Jovial—­we must make our escape on foot, and try to reach Leipsic—­when you are tired, I will carry you, and, though I have to beg my way, we will go through with it.  But a quarter of an hour later, and all will be lost.  Come, children, have trust in me—­show that the daughters of General Simon are no cowards—­and there is yet hope.”