In, in!" and together they rushed
into the cabaret, finding, as they pushed the door further open,
Andre's wife lying fainting in the passage. She had followed her
husband down the stairs and witnessed his end.

That husband's greed--his withholding from the others the fact that
the escaped galley slave had a good horse--led to that galley slave's
escape. For, all unknowing that, not twenty paces off, the horse was
there ready saddled to bear him away, they never thought of the
stable, but, instead, plunged into the inn and commenced at once
roaming from room to room searching for him.

As they did so, his opportunity came. Swiftly he led the animal down
the alley to the door--it had no other exit, or he would have escaped
by it--equally swiftly he led it some distance down the street,
praying to God all the time that its hoofs striking on the stones
might not reach their ears, and sweating with fear and apprehension as
he heard their shouts and calls to one another. Then, when he was
fifty yards away from the house, he jumped into the saddle, patted his
horse on the neck, and rode swiftly for the East Gate.

Whether he would get through before the whole east part of the city
was alarmed--as he knew it soon must be--he could not tell yet. If the
gates were not open, he was as much lost as before; he must be taken.
But would they be so open? Would they? As he prayed they might, the
cathedral clock rang out again, struck four.

"O God!" he murmured, "grant this may be the hour. Grant it! grant
it!"

It seemed to him as though his prayer was heard. Nearing the East
Gate, placed on the west side of a branch of the river Eure, he saw
the bascule descending; he knew that four o'clock _was_ the hour. Also
he saw several peasants standing by, ready to pass over it into the
country beyond, doubtless either to fetch in produce for the city or
going to their work. He was safe now, he felt; if none came behind,
there would be no hindrance to his exit.

"You ride early, monsieur," the keeper said, glancing up at him from
his occupation of throwing down some grain to his fowls, which he had
just released for the day. Then, taking out a pocketbook, "Your name,
monsieur, and destination?" he asked.

"Destination, Paris. Name----" and he paused. He had not anticipated
this. Yet he must give a name and at once; at any moment from the city
might appear a crowd, or the dragoons shouting to the man to bar his
egress. "Name, Dubois