Yet we were bound to get up, and to get in; and I was preparing to rise to my feet on the giddy bridge as gingerly as I could, when Marie crawled quickly over us, and swung himself up to the narrow sill, much as I should mount a horse on the level. He held out his foot to me, and making an effort I reached the same dizzy perch. Croisette for the time remained below.
A narrow window-ledge sixty feet above the pavement, and three bars to cling to! I cowered to my holdfasts, envying even Croisette. My legs dangled airily, and the black chasm of the street seemed to yawn for me. For a moment I turned sick. Irecovered from that to feel desperate. I remembered that go forward we must, bars or no bars. We could not regain our old prison if we would.
It was equally clear that we could not go forward if the inmates should object. On that narrow perch even Marie was helpless.
The bars of the window were close together. A woman, a child, could disengage our hands, and then--I turned sick again. Ithought of the cruel stones. I glued my face to the bars, and pushing aside a corner of the curtain, looked in.
There was only one person in the room--a woman, who was moving about fully dressed, late as it was. The room was a mere attic, the counterpart of that we had left. A box-bed with a canopy roughly nailed over it stood in a corner. A couple of chairs were by the hearth, and all seemed to speak of poverty and bareness. Yet the woman whom we saw was richly dressed, though her silks and velvets were disordered. I saw a jewel gleam in her hair, and others on her hands. When she turned her face towards us--a wild, beautiful face, perplexed and tear-stained--Iknew her instantly for a gentlewoman, and when she walked hastily to the door, and laid her hand upon it, and seemed to listen--when she shook the latch and dropped her hands in despair and went back to the hearth, I made another discovery I knew at once, seeing her there, that we were likely but to change one prison for another. Was every house in Paris then a dungeon? And did each roof cover its tragedy?
"Madame!" I said, speaking softly, to attract her attention.
"Madame!"
She started violently, not knowing whence the sound came, and looked round, at the door first. Then she moved towards the window, and with an affrighted gesture drew the curtain rapidly aside.
Our eyes met. What if she screamed and aroused the house? What, indeed? "Madame," I said again, speaking hurriedly, and striving to reassure her by the softness of my voice, "we implore your help! Unless you assist us we are lost.""You! Who are you?" she cried, glaring at us wildly, her hand to her head. And then she murmured to herself, "Mon Dieu! what will become of me?""We have been imprisoned in the house opposite," I hastened to explain, disjointedly I am afraid. "And we have escaped. We cannot get back if we would. Unless you let us enter your room and give us shelter--""We shall be dashed to pieces on the pavement," supplied Marie, with perfect calmness--nay, with apparent enjoyment.
"Let you in here?" she answered, starting back in new terror;"it is impossible."
She reminded me of our cousin, being, like her pale and dark-haired. She wore her hair in a coronet, disordered now. But though she was still beautiful, she was older than Kit, and lacked her pliant grace. I saw all this, and judging her nature, I spoke out of my despair. "Madame," I said piteously, "we are only boys. Croisette! Come up!" Squeezing myself still more tightly into my corner of the ledge, I made room for him between us. "See, Madame," I cried, craftily, "will you not have pity on three boys?"St. Crois's boyish face and fair hair arrested her attention, as I had expected. Her expression grew softer, and she murmured, "Poor boy!"I caught at the opportunity. "We do but seek a passage through your room," I said fervently. Good heavens, what had we not at stake! What if she should remain obdurate? "We are in trouble --in despair," I panted. "So, I believe, are you. We will help you if you will first save us. We are boys, but we can fight for you.""Whom am I to trust?" she exclaimed, with a shudder. "But heaven forbid," she continued, her eyes on Croisette's face, "that, wanting help, I should refuse to give it. Come in, if you will."I poured out my thanks, and had forced my head between the bars --at imminent risk of its remaining there--before the words were well out of her mouth. But to enter was no easy task after all.
Croisette did, indeed, squeeze through at last, and then by force pulled first one and then the other of us after him. But only necessity and that chasm behind could have nerved us, I think, to go through a process so painful. When I stood, at length on the floor, I seemed to be one great abrasion from head to foot. And before a lady, too!
But what a joy I felt, nevertheless. A fig for Bezers now. He had called us boys; and we were boys. But he should yet find that we could thwart him. It could be scarcely half-an-hour after midnight; we might still be in time. I stretched myself and trod the level door jubilantly, and then noticed, while doing so, that our hostess had retreated to the door and was eyeing us timidly--half-scared.
I advanced to her with my lowest bow--sadly missing my sword.
"Madame," I said, "I am M. Anne de Caylus, and these are my brothers. And we are at your service.""And I," she replied, smiling faintly--I do not know why--"am Madame de Pavannes, I gratefully accept your offers of service.""De Pavannes?" I exclaimed, amazed and overjoyed. Madame de Pavannes! Why, she must be Louis' kinswoman! No doubt she could tell us where he was lodged, and so rid our task of half its difficulty. Could anything have fallen out more happily? "You know then M. Louis de Pavannes?" I continued eagerly.
"Certainly," she answered, smiling with a rare shy sweetness this time. "Very well indeed. He is my husband."
