; and I know well enough that Baptiste is away in
the country, and that there is nobody in the house but your mistress
and yourself. Let me in. I _must_ speak with your lady this instant."

"Do you imagine," asked La Martiniere, "that my lady is going to speak
to you in the middle of the night? Can't you understand that she has
been in bed ever so long, and that it is as much as my place is worth
to awaken her out of her first sweet sleep, which is so precious to a
person at her time of life?"

"I know," answered the person beneath, "that she has just this moment
put away the manuscript of the novel 'Clelia,' at which she is working
so hard, and is writing some verses which she means to read to-morrow
at Madame de Maintenon's. I implore you, Madame La Martiniere, be so
compassionate as to open the door. Upon your doing so depends the
escape of an unfortunate creature from destruction. Nay, honour,
freedom, a human life, depend on this moment in which I _must_ speak
with your lady. Remember, her anger will rest upon you for ever when
she comes to know that it was you who cruelly drove away from her door
the unfortunate wretch who came to beg for her help."

"But why should you come for her help at such an extraordinary time of
the night?" asked La Martiniere. "Come back in the morning at a
reasonable hour." But the reply came up, "Does destiny, when it strikes
like the destroying lightning, consider hours and times? When there is
but one moment when rescue is possible, is help to be put off? Open me
the door. Have no fear of a wretched being who is without defence,
hunted, under the pressure of a terrible fate, and flies to your lady
for succour from the most imminent peril."

La Martiniere heard the stranger moaning and groaning as he uttered
those words in the deepest sorrow, and the tone of his voice was that
of a youth, soft and gentle, and going profoundly to the heart. She was
deeply touched, and without much more hesitation she went and fetched
the key.

As soon as she opened the door, the form shrouded in the mantle burst
violently in, and passing La Martiniere, cried in a wild voice, "Take
me to your lady!" La Martiniere held up the light which she was
carrying, and the glimmer fell on the face of a very young man,
distorted and frightfully drawn, and as pale as death. She almost fell
down on the landing for terror when he opened his cloak and showed the
glittering hilt of a stiletto sticking in his doublet