“We must carry them through the wood, Charles,” said Henri, whispering.  “It is our only chance.”

“True—­true,” said de Lescure.  “Turn the oxen, Francois, turn them back through the yard into the farm-road, and then keep to the left into the wood.  We will meet you at the seven limes.”

“Take Victorine out through the garden,” said Henri to his cousin, who was now hurrying into the house, “and through the iron gate.  I saw the other day that the key was in it, and we can turn it.  I tried it myself.  I will bring Marie after you.”

Henri stayed a moment to assist in turning the cumbrous waggon, and ran back to open the farm gates.

“Close the gates after you, Francois,” said he, “and put the tressels close against them.  If you lose a minute in doing it, you will gain five in delaying these devils.  If you hear them following you in the wood-road, draw the waggon across the track and leave it.”

He was only delayed two minutes by going back to the yard gates, but those two minutes were nearly fatal to him and Marie.  Marian also delayed him again as he returned to the house.

“Where am I to go, M. Henri,” said she; “what am I to do? they will be sure to kill me, for they saw me at Amaillou, and will know that I gave the warning.”

“Hide yourself, my girl,” said Henri:  “hide yourself, but not in the house, for that will soon be a mass of ruins.  Hide yourself in the woods; there cannot be many of these devils here, and they will not remain long.”

He hurried into the house as he ceased speaking, and at the moment he did so Westerman and his thirty men turned the corner of the avenue.  He rushed from the back door through the passages of the chateau into the hall, where he seized hold of a large cloak belonging to de Lescure, which he threw over his shoulder as he ran up stairs.  On the stairs he met his cousin, with Madame de Lescure and the nurse and child.

“Haste, Henri, for God’s sake, haste,” said she; “I heard the tramp of their horses through my open window.”

De Lescure had opened the summer door leading into the garden as he came up stairs, to have it ready for his exit, and he, and those under his care, escaped through it into the garden.

“Shut the garden door,” roared Henri to him from the top of the staircase.  “Shut the door, whatever you do.”  De Lescure could not understand his object, but he trusted his cousin, and closed the door as he passed through it.  Henri had perceived that it would be impossible for him to regain the hall, and had resolved to jump from the window of the staircase into the garden, with his precious burden in his arms.  He foresaw that if the door were left open, pursuit through it would be both inevitable and fatal.

Marie’s room was close to the top of the stairs, and her lover did not use much ceremony in opening the door.  In going to and from his wife’s chamber, de Lescure had not passed it, and therefore the innocent girl slept soundly till Henri’s sudden entrance roused her from her dreams.