or what?' I cried in amazement.

'The murder of Father Antoine. You will pardon me,' he continued
urgently, 'but this is no time for words. The Provost-Marshal is even
now on his way to arrest you. Your only hope is to evade him, and gain
an audience of the king. I have persuaded my uncle to go with you,
and he is waiting at his lodgings. There is not a moment to be
lost, however, if you would reach the king's presence before you are
arrested.'

'But I am innocent!' I cried.

'I know it,' M. d'Agen answered, 'and can prove it. But if you cannot
get speech of the king innocence will avail you nothing. You have
powerful enemies. Come without more ado, M. de Marsac, I pray,' he
added.

His manner, even more than his words, impressed me with a sense of
urgency; and postponing for a time my own judgment, I hurriedly thanked
him for his friendly offices. Snatching up my sword, which lay on a
chair, I buckled it on; for Simon's fingers trembled so violently he
could give me no help. This done I nodded to M. d'Agen to go first, and
followed him from the room, Simon attending us of his own motion. It
would be then about eleven o'clock in the forenoon.

My companion ran down the stairs without ceremony, and so quickly it was
all I could do to keep up with him. At the outer door he signed me to
stand, and darting himself into the street, he looked anxiously in the
direction of the Rue St. Denys. Fortunately the coast was still clear,
and he beckoned to me to follow him. I did so and starting to walk in
the opposite direction as fast as we could, in less than a minute we had
put a corner between us and the house.

Our hopes of escaping unseen, however, were promptly dashed. The house,
I have said, stood in a quiet by-street, which was bounded on the
farther side by a garden-wall buttressed at intervals. We had scarcely
gone a dozen paces from my door when a man slipped from the shelter of
one of these buttresses, and after a single glance at us, set off to run
towards the Rue St. Denys.

M. d'Agen looked back and nodded. 'There goes the news,' he said. 'They
will try to cut us off, but I think we have the start of them.'

I made no reply, feeling that I had resigned myself entirely into his
hands. But as we passed through the Rue de Valois, in part of which a
market was held at this hour, attracting a considerable concourse of
peasants and others, I fancied I detected signs of unusual bustle and
excitement. It seemed unli