"Where to?" asked the coachman of the young man.

"Well, citizen," was the smiling response, "if I knew that, all would be
well. But that is just what I don't know; and the little countess, here,
who has strayed from her home, can't remember the street, nor the number
of the house, in which she lives. She can only remember that her mama's
palace is on a square in which there is a fountain. We must therefore
visit all the fountains in turn until we find the right one."

The coachman made no further inquiries, but climbed to the box, and
drove off in quest of the fountains of Paris.

Two fountains were visited, but neither of them proved to be the right
one. The young man now bade the coachman drive through a certain street
to a third fountain. It was a narrow, winding street--the Rue des Blancs
Manteaux.

When the coach was opposite a low, one-storied house, the young man drew
the strap, and told the driver he wished to stop for a few moments. As
the vehicle drew up in front of the house, the door opened, and a tall,
stalwart man in top-boots came forth, accompanied by a sturdy dame who
held a candle, which she protected from the wind with the palm of her
hand.

"Is that you, Raoul?" called the young man from the coach window.

There was no response from the giant, who, instead, sprang nimbly to the
box, and, flinging one arm around the astonished coachman, thrust a gag
into his mouth. Before the captive could make a move to defend himself,