“But you shall not die,” I said, wildly, springing to my feet.  “The assassin comes!  Give me the poisoned knife.  When he opens the door I shall slay him.  I shall bear you with me.  Who will dare to arrest our departure with that dreadful weapon—­that instantaneous death—­shining in my hand.  Besides, I carry a hundred lives at my girdle.  Once in the streets, we can escape.”

She took from the pocket of her coat the sheathed dagger and handed it to me.

“We must, however, be guided by the counsels of Rudolph,” she quietly said; “he is a faithful friend.”

“True,” I replied.

We sat near each other.  I presumed nothing upon the great admission she had so gravely made.  This was a woman to be worshiped rather than wooed.  I told her all the story of my life.  I described my home in that strange, wild, ancient, lofty land; my mother, my brothers; the wide, old, roomy house; the trees, the flowers, the clustering, bleating sheep.

A half hour passed.  The door opened.  A burst of laughter and the clinking of glasses resounded through it.  Rudolph entered.

“The Prince and his friends,” he said, “make merry over their assured victory.  If you will tell Maximilian all you have heard to-night, the result may be different from what they anticipate.  Come with me.”

He led the way through a suite of two or three rooms which communicated with his apartment.

“We must throw the hounds off the scent of the fox,” he said; and, to our astonishment, he proceeded to tear down the heavy curtains from two windows, having first locked the door and closed the outer shutters.  He then tore the curtains into long strips, knotting them together; we pulled upon them to test their strength.  He then opened one of the windows and dropped the end of the long rope thus formed out of it, fastening the other to a heavy piece of furniture, within the room.

“That will account for your escape,” he said.  “I have already thrown the rope ladder from the window of the room Estella occupied.  These precautions are necessary for my own safety.”

Then, locking the communicating doors, we returned to his room.

“Put this cloak over your shoulders,” he said; “it will help disguise you.  Walk boldly down these stairs,” opening another door—­not the one we had entered by; “turn to the right—­to the right, remember—­and on your left hand you will soon find a door—­the first you will come to.  Open it.  Say to the man on guard:  ’Show me to the carriage of Lord Southworth.’  There is no such person; but that is the signal agreed upon.  He will lead you to the carriage.  Maximilian is the footman.  Farewell, and may God bless you.”