when one of the searchers looked up to the roof, as if expecting to find a trap door; fortunately, however, he did not discover it.  Maurice, who had seized the light, contrived to throw the shadows so as to deceive the eye.  The soldiers at length retreated; and with inexpressible satisfaction Maurice lighted them down stairs, and saw them fairly out of the house.  For some minutes after they were in safety, the terrified mother, who had recovered her senses, could scarcely believe that the danger was over.  She embraced her children by turns with wild transport; and with tears begged Madame de Fleury to forgive her cowardice, and not to attribute it to ingratitude, or to suspect that she had a bad heart.  She protested that she was now become so courageous, since she found that she had gone through this trial successfully, and since she was sure that the hiding-place was really so secure, that she should never be alarmed at any domiciliary visit in future.  Madame de Fleury, however, did not think it either just or expedient to put her resolution to the trial.  She determined to leave Paris; and, if possible, to make her escape from France.  The master of one of the Paris diligences was brother to Francois, her footman:  he was ready to assist her at all hazards, and to convey her safely to Bourdeaux, if she could disguise herself properly; and if she could obtain a pass from any friend under a feigned name.

Victoire—­the indefatigable Victoire—­recollected that her friend Annette had an aunt, who was nearly of Madame de Fleury’s size, and who had just obtained a pass to go to Bourdeaux, to visit some of her relations.  The pass was willingly given up to Madame de Fleury; and upon reading it over it was found to answer tolerably well—­the colour of the eyes and hair at least would do; though the words un nez gros were not precisely descriptive of this lady’s.  Annette’s mother, who had always worn the provincial dress of Auvergne, furnished the high cornette, stiff stays, bodice, &c.; and equipped in these, Madame de Fleury was so admirably well disguised, that even Victoire declared she should scarcely have known her.  Money, that most necessary passport in all countries, was still wanting:  as seals had been put upon all Madame de Fleury’s effects the day she had been first imprisoned in her own house, she could not save even her jewels.  She had, however, one ring on her finger of some value.  How to dispose of it without exciting suspicion was the difficulty.  Babet, who was resolved to have her share in assisting her benefactress, proposed to carry the ring to a colporteur—­a pedlar, or sort of travelling jeweller—­who had come to lay in a stock of hardware at Paris:  he was related to one of Madame de Fleury’s little pupils, and readily disposed of the ring for her:  she obtained at least two-thirds of its value—­a great deal in those times.