CHAPTER XXIX.  THE ESCAPE.

In a small back room on the second floor of the inn at Angers, a mean, dingy room which looked into a narrow lane, and commanded no prospect more informing than a blind wall, two men sat, fretting; or, rather, one man sat, his chin resting on his hand, while his companion, less patient or more sanguine, strode ceaselessly to and fro.  In the first despair of capture—­for they were prisoners—­they had made up their minds to the worst, and the slow hours of two days had passed over their heads without kindling more than a faint spark of hope in their breasts.  But when they had been taken out and forced to mount and ride—­at first with feet tied to the horses’ girths—­they had let the change, the movement, and the open air fan the flame.  They had muttered a word to one another, they had wondered, they had reasoned.  And though the silence of their guards—­from whose sour vigilance the keenest question drew no response—­seemed of ill-omen, and, taken with their knowledge of the man into whose hands they had fallen, should have quenched the spark, these two, having special reasons, the one the buoyancy of youth, the other the faith of an enthusiast, cherished the flame.  In the breast of one indeed it had blazed into a confidence so arrogant that he now took all for granted, and was not content.

“It is easy for you to say ‘Patience!’” he cried, as he walked the floor in a fever.  “You stand to lose no more than your life, and if you escape go free at all points!  But he has robbed me of more than life!  Of my love, and my self-respect, curse him!  He has worsted me not once, but twice and thrice!  And if he lets me go now, dismissing me with my life, I shall—­I shall kill him!” he concluded, through his teeth.

“You are hard to please!”

“I shall kill him!”

“That were to fall still lower!” the minister answered, gravely regarding him.  “I would, M. de Tignonville, you remembered that you are not yet out of jeopardy.  Such a frame of mind as yours is no good preparation for death, let me tell you!”

“He will not kill us!” Tignonville cried.  “He knows better than most men how to avenge himself!”

“Then he is above most!” La Tribe retorted.  “For my part I wish I were sure of the fact, and I should sit here more at ease.”

“If we could escape, now, of ourselves!” Tignonville cried.  “Then we should save not only life, but honour!  Man, think of it!  If we could escape, not by his leave, but against it!  Are you sure that this is Angers?”

“As sure as a man can be who has only seen the Black Town once or twice!” La Tribe answered, moving to the casement—­which was not glazed—­and peering through the rough wooden lattice.  “But if we could escape we are strangers here.  We know not which way to go, nor where to find shelter.  And for the matter of that,” he continued, turning from the window with a shrug of resignation, “’tis no use to talk of it while yonder foot goes up and down the passage, and its owner bears the key in his pocket.”