gentlemen to their chamber. You understand?"

We stiffly acknowledged his salute--the priest taking no notice
of us--and followed the servant from the room; going along a
corridor and up a steep flight of stairs, and seeing enough by
the way to be sure that resistance was hopeless. Doors opened
silently as we passed, and grim fellows, in corslets and padded
coats, peered out. The clank of arms and murmur of voices
sounded continuously about us; and as we passed a window the
jingle of bits, and the hollow clang of a restless hoof on the
flags below, told us that the great house was for the time a
fortress. I wondered much. For this was Paris, a city with
gates and guards; the night a short August night. Yet the
loneliest manor in Quercy could scarcely have bristled with more
pikes and musquetoons, on a winter's night and in time of war.

No doubt these signs impressed us all; and Croisette not least.
For suddenly I heard him stop, as he followed us up the narrow
staircase, and begin without warning to stumble down again as
fast as he could. I did not know what he was about; but
muttering something to Marie, I followed the lad to see. At the
foot of the flight of stairs I looked back, Marie and the servant
were standing in suspense, where I had left them. I heard the
latter bid us angrily to return.

But by this time Croisette was at the end of the corridor; and
reassuring the fellow by a gesture I hurried on, until brought to
a standstill by a man opening a door in my face. He had heard
our returning footsteps, and eyed me suspiciously; but gave way
after a moment with a grunt of doubt I hastened on, reaching the