e
Vidame had been before us.

And yet how quiet it all was.

Then I breathed freely again. I saw that Croisette had only stepped
back to avoid some one who was coming out--the Coadjutor in fact. The
moment the entrance was clear, the lad shot in, and the others after
him, the priest taking no notice of them, nor they of him.

I was for going in too, when I felt Madame d'O's hand tighten suddenly
on my arm, and then fall from it. Apprised of something by this, I
glanced at the priest's face, catching sight of it by chance just as
his eyes met hers. His face was white--nay it was ugly with
disappointment and rage, bitter snarling rage, that was hardly human.
He grasped her by the arm roughly and twisted her round without
ceremony, so as to draw her a few paces aside; yet not so far that I
could not hear what they said.

"He is not here!" he hissed. "Do you understand? He crossed the
river to the Faubourg St. Germain at nightfall--searching for her. And
he has not come back! He is on the other side of the water, and
midnight has struck this hour past!"

She stood silent for a moment as if she had received a blow--silent and
dismayed. Something serious had happened. I could see that.

"He cannot recross the river now?" she said after a time. "The
gates--"

"Shut!" he replied briefly. "The keys are at the Louvre."

"And the boats are on this side?"

"Every boat!" he answered, striking his one hand on the other with
violence. "Every boat! No one may cross until it is over."

"And the Faubourg St. Germain?" she said in a lower voice.

"There will be nothing done there. Nothing!"

CHAPTER VII

A YOUNG KNIGHT-ERRANT.

I would gladly have left the two together, and gone straight into the
house. I was eager now to discharge the errand on which I had come so
far; and apart from this I had no liking for the priest or wish to
overhear his talk. His anger, however, was so patent, and the rudeness
with which he treated Madame d'O so pronounced that I felt I could not
leave her with him unless she should dismiss me. So I stood patiently
enough--and awkwardly enough too, I daresay--by the door while they
talked on in subdued tones. Nevertheless, I felt heartily glad when at
length, the discussion ending Madame came back to me. I offered her my
arm to help her over the wooden foot of the side gate. She laid her
hand on it, but she stood still.

"M. de Caylus," she said; and at that stopped.