!" he said. "Do you not hear?"

I listened. There was a distinct murmuring, the clattering of hoofs,
the neigh of a horse, and then a cry, faint but distinct:

"Vendome! Vendome! Bourbon! Notre Dame!"

We sprang to our feet. "The Lord, who preserved His chosen from out of
the land of bondage, hath heard my cry, and we are saved!" exclaimed La
Mothe, and making our way to the door we listened. All was stillness
once more, a stillness that seemed to last for hours, though it was but
for a few minutes. At last we heard the tramp of many feet, louder and
louder they grew, and then there was a rattling of chains, and our
prison door fell open, letting in a stream of light. In the blaze in
the doorway stood Vendome and Martines, and behind them a crowd of
eager faces.

"These are the prisoners, Monseigneur!" said Martines.

"And I, Antony de Bourbon-Vendome, First Prince of the Blood Royal of
France, stand here on my right and claim them. Gentlemen," and he
turned to us, "you are free; follow me!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE ARM OF GOD

Four days had passed since that dreadful night in the Rue des
Mathurins--days the memory of which can never be effaced whilst I live.
No tidings were obtainable of mademoiselle, save that she was amongst the
prisoners who were being tried in secret by De Mouchy, and all efforts to
communicate with her had been in vain. This much, however, leaked out:
that owing to the whispers that had got abroad--none knew how--the
prisoners, with the exception of one or two, were not of importance; but
this in itself made the matter worse for mademoiselle, and gave the mock
court of justice--it could be called by no other name--every opportunity
of veiling its real purpose. In this De Mouchy was managing the trial
with great skill. The prisoners of no account--the scrivener's clerk,
the poor shopkeeper, the small mercer--got the benefit of plea and
quibble! God knows, I did not grudge them that! But each acquittal,
pronounced loudly in the name of the King's mercy, with high-flown words
about the love of the King for his people, led step by step to the real
object for which the infamous triangle worked. Already the gossips were
beginning to wag their tongues at the leniency shown. It was said in the
cabarets and public places that the memory of the tailor of St. Antoine
haunted the King, and that he and the Queen were, in secret, heretics.
At the last acquittal the cruel mob of Paris