this he flung out; and so we, who but an hour or two ago were in
friendly converse, parted in anger, and with stormy words.

In a manner I was not sorry for this, for in my heart I always felt a
warning against him, and there was something so ominous, so evil, in
his face as he left that I felt assured he would strike a felon blow at
the first opportunity.

The more I reflected on what had happened, and on Camus' threat in
connection with Diane de Poitiers, the more I began to see a crop of
dangers ahead of me. I began to think it well to retire to some other
city. In this I was influenced by the fact that, if there were trouble
about the dead man and I were involved in it, as after Camus' words I
felt I should certainly be, it was hardly possible that I could escape
being recognised.

The sentence against me, cruel and unjust as it was, stood still, and,
once I was discovered, it would be put into force for certain.

Like a prudent general, I felt I must beat a retreat. The bulk of my
money was in trustworthy hands in Antwerp, but in my oak chest were a
hundred gold crowns of the sun--a great stand-by and help in the hour
of trouble.

There was nothing for it but to go, and, summoning Pierrebon, I told
him of my intention. We set to work to pack a valise at once. This
being done, we waited for the small hours.

It was about four in the morning that I decided to move, and taking a
last look at the place where I had lived so long in peace I went out
into the street, followed by Pierrebon bearing the valise. I had to
leave everything behind except the barest necessities and my money, and
to trust the well-being of my goods to Fortune. The jade was unkind
enough to forget me in this matter, which put me to heavy loss.

It was, of course, impossible to leave Paris at this hour, as the gates
would be shut; but behind the Abbey of St. Germain de Pres was a little
hostel called the Chapeau Rouge, where I knew I could find shelter
until I could procure a couple of horses and be off.

At four in the morning night-hawks are abed, and even the convicts had
ceased working on the Gloriette. The moon had gone, and it was dark
now--the darkness that precedes the dawn.

We met not a soul as we stumbled along, and coming out at length to the
Vallee de Misere we passed the Gloriette, and kept to our right along
the river face, until almost opposite the Church of St. Germain
l'Auxerrois. Here moored to the bank were a