r while she still stood at
gaze, her hands pressed to her bosom, he slipped quickly out and closed
the door behind him. I heard a muttering for an instant outside, and
then the tramp of feet descending the stairs. They were gone, and we
were still undiscovered.

For Madame, she had clean forgotten our presence--of that I am
sure--and the chance of escape we might afford. On finding herself
alone she gazed a short time in alarmed silence at the door, and then
ran to the window and peered out, still trembling, terrified, silent.
So she remained a while.

She had not noticed that Bezers on going out had omitted to lock the
door behind him. I had. But I was unwilling to move hastily. Some
one might return to see to it before the Vidame left the house. And
besides the door was not over strong, and if locked would be no
obstacle to the three of us when we had only Mirepoix to deal with. So
I kept the others where they were by a nudge and a pinch, and held my
breath a moment, straining my ears to catch the closing of the door
below. I did not hear that. But I did catch a sound that otherwise
might have escaped me, but which now riveted my eyes to the door of our
room. Some one in the silence, which followed the trampling on the
stairs, had cautiously laid a hand on the latch.

The light in the room was dim. Mirepoix had taken one of the candles
with him, and the other wanted snuffing. I could not see whether the
latch moved; whether or no it was rising. But watching intently, I
made out that the door was being opened--slowly, noiselessly. I saw
someone enter--a furtive gliding shadow.

For a moment I felt nervous--then I recognised the dark hooded figure.
It was only Madame d'O. Brave woman! She had evaded the Vidame and
slipped back to the rescue. Ha, ha! We would defeat the Vidame yet!
Things were going better!

But then something in her manner--as she stood holding the door and
peering into the room--something in her bearing startled and frightened
me. As she came forward her movements were so stealthy that her
footsteps made no sound. Her dark shadow, moving ahead of her across
the floor, was not more silent than she. An undefined desire to make a
noise, to give the alarm, seized me.

Half-way across the room she stopped to listen, and looked round,
startled herself, I think, by the silence. She could not see her
sister, whose figure was blurred by the outlines of the curtain; and no
doubt she