er way back in the darkness to her room,
where, wholly overcome and unable to utter a sound, she fell into an
arm-chair. Presently she heard the bolts rattle, which she had left
unfastened when she closed the house door. The house was therefore now
shut up, and soft unsteady steps were approaching her room. Like one
under a spell, unable to move, she was preparing for the very worst,
when, to her inexpressible joy, the door opened, and by the pale light
of the night-lamp she saw it was Baptiste. He was deadly pale, and much
upset. "For the love of all the saints," he exclaimed, "tell me what
has happened! Oh, what a state I am in! Something--I don't know what it
was--told me to come away from the wedding yesterday--forced me to come
away. So when I got to this street, I thought, Madame Martiniere isn't
a heavy sleeper; she'll hear me if I knock quietly at the door, and let
me in. Then up came a strong patrol meeting me, horsemen and foot,
armed to the teeth. They stopped me, and wouldn't let me go. Luckily
Desgrais was there, the lieutenant of the Marechaussee. He knows me,
and as they were holding their lanterns under my nose, he said, 'Ho,
Baptiste! How come you here in the streets at this time of the night?
You ought to be at home, taking care of the house. This is not a very
safe spot just at this moment. We're expecting to make a fine haul, an
important arrest, to-night.' You can't think, Madame La Martiniere, how
I felt when he said that. And when I got to the door, lo! and behold! a
man in a cloak comes bursting out with a drawn dagger in his hand, runs
round me, and makes off. The door was open, the keys in the lock. What,
in the name of all that's holy, is the meaning of it all?"

La Martiniere, relieved from her alarm, told him all that had happened,
and both she and he went back to the hall, where they found the
candelabra on the floor, where the stranger had thrown it on taking his
flight. "There can't be the slightest doubt that our mistress was
within an ace of being robbed, and murdered too, very likely," Baptiste
said. "According to what you say, the scoundrel knew well enough that
there was nobody in the house but her and you, and even that she was
still sitting up at her writing. Of course he was one of those infernal
blackguards who pry into folks' houses and spy out everything that can
be of use to them in their devilish designs. And the little casket,
Madame Martiniere, that, I think, we'll throw int