y's
strangely trussed up life during this time.

He was still enshrined in the heart of the little seamstress in the
Paris faubourg, still dear to his aunt the Countess who with her
husband was an emigre beyond the borders. Otherwise, no hermit nor
solitary was more completely effaced from the world.

The first light of hope was brought to Caen by a messenger from the
Countess, who had managed to smuggle through a letter or two and a
small box of gold.

"I dare not advise you," his kind Aunt wrote. "Escape into France
would invite your death as an aristocrat. On the other hand, if you
make use of the accompanying pardon signed by your uncle the Count,
the Governor of Caen will probably enroll you for the inhuman and
useless war of La Vendee. Take the money, my dear Nephew, and use it
as you deem best--the messenger will secure it for you outside the
prison until you need it!"

De Vaudrey pondered, as his Aunt advised. But, really, there was but
the one course for him! To win through, disguised, at whatever peril,
to Henriette; to find her and Louise; to save them from that black
welter of the Revolution, and guide them out of the country to the
loving care of the Countess and the repentant Count: yes, such was the
course that both Love and Duty dictated. He would begin it that night,
aided by his faithful friend the messenger.

"Hand part of the gold," he whispered the Countess's agent, "to some
rustic carter on whom you can rely. Bring another part here and give
it to a keeper whom I shall point out to you!"

The impromptu little plot worked perfectly. The friendly keeper,
having gotten a peep at the ex-Police Prefect's letter of pardon,
needed but the clincher argument of the gold in order to aid de
Vaudrey's escape. A rope over the wall, and even a plank across the
moat, were mysteriously provided. In the last silent watch of the
night, the go-between (who had been waiting) conducted the escaped
prisoner to the carter's cavern. Already the East was showing the
ghostly light of the first faint streaks of dawn.

Having breakfasted in the cave and put his few belongings into a pack,
de Vaudrey with the two others stepped out of the dark hole into the
growing light.

The carter pointed to the Chevalier's frizzled locks and elegant if
faded dress. "They would take you up at the first village crossing on
that!" he remarked. "Your get-up gives you away."

The Chevalier retired to a new toilette. Within, were the