“We must remember that,” Margot said.

“Remember what, Margot?”

“Only that you are to regard him as a brother, mademoiselle.”

“Margot, Margot, I am surprised at you, joking like a child when we have a terrible business before us.  But indeed I feel so happy at the thought of escape from that terrible convent, that I could joke like a child also.”

“You had better write a line for him, mademoiselle.  It was from chance that I happened to be in the hall when he rang; and we don’t want him to come in to be stared at by Francois while you write an answer.”

Quickly Adele sat down at a table, and wrote: 

“At the hour and place named, expect us—­Yours, trustfully, Adele.”

As the clock struck eleven two slight figures stole noiselessly out of the garden gate of Madame de Soissons’ house at Versailles.  The town was hushed in sleep, and not a sound was moving in the street.  They carried bundles with them, and walked with rapid steps to a small lane which led off the street by the side of the garden wall.  It was quite dark, and they could see nothing, but a voice said: 

“Adele!”

“Rupert!” one of the figures answered, in shy, trembling tones.

“Please stay where you are,” Rupert said.  “It is lighter in the street.”

The horses were led forth noiselessly, for Rupert had fastened cloths round their feet, to prevent the iron shoes sounding on the round pebbles which paved the streets.

Not a word was said.  There was a warm clasp of the hand, and Rupert lifted Adele into the saddle.  Margot climbed into another, and the three rode rapidly down the streets.  Not a word was spoken until they were in the open country.

“Thank God, you are safe thus far, Adele.  The last time I helped you on to a horse was the day you went out to see my hawk kill a heron.”

“Oh, Rupert,” the girl said, “it seems like a dream.  But please do not let us talk yet about ourselves.  Tell me about Papa.  How is he?”

Rupert told her; and gradually as they talked the excitement and agitation passed off.

“And where did you get the horses, Rupert?”

“The one I am riding is Louis d’Etamps’,” he said, “the others are your father’s.  I brought orders from him to his steward in Paris, that two of his best horses were to be sent this morning to a stable in Versailles, and left there, and that a person with an order from him would call for them.”

“I cannot see you in the least.  Are you dressed as Monsieur d’Etamps’ lackey still?”

“No, I am now a quiet country gentleman, riding down from Paris with my two sons, who have been up with me to see their aunt who lives in the Rue du Tempe.”

“Talk French, please, Rupert.  Margot will understand then; and she is so brave and good, and shares my danger, so she ought to be as one of us.”

Adele’s spirits rose as they got farther from Versailles, and they talked and laughed cheerfully, but in low tones.