At
any moment they might cross the roadway, they might approach, they might
challenge him. And at the thought he knocked and knocked again. Why did
not the porter come?
Ay, why? For now a score of contingencies came into the young man's mind
and tortured him. Had Madame St. Lo withdrawn to safer quarters and
closed the house? Or, good Catholic as she was, had she given way to
panic, and determined to open to no one? Or was she ill? Or had she
perished in the general disorder? Or--
And then, even as the men began to slink towards him, his heart leapt. He
heard a footstep heavy and slow move through the house. It came nearer
and nearer. A moment, and an iron-grated Judas-hole in the door slid
open, and a servant, an elderly man, sleek and respectable, looked out at
him.
Tignonville could scarcely speak for excitement. "Madame St. Lo?" he
muttered tremulously. "I come to her from her cousin the Comte de
Tavannes. Quick! quick! if you please. Open to me!"
"Monsieur is alone?"
"Yes! Yes!"
The man nodded gravely and slid back the bolts. He allowed M. de
Tignonville to enter, then with care he secured the door, and led the way
across a small square court, paved with red tiles and enclosed by the
house, but open above to the sunshine and the blue sky.
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