With quivering nerves I dragged Fronsac back into the shadow of the wall. I was certain that Roquefort had seen us, but as the minutes passed and he made no sign, I remembered that looking down into darkness is a very different thing to looking up into light. So at last I stood watching him without fear of discovery.

He was talking to Mademoiselle Valérie with great earnestness, and while I could see repulsion swaying her from him, there was some wizardry in his words or manner that chained her to the spot. Her face was turned away from him, but he spoke with accompaniment of look and gesture as though she were returning his intent gaze. What was he explaining?—some deviltry, no doubt! And I remembered that when he left her side we must devise some way of getting to her. As I stood there staring up at them a thought leaped to life in my brain that set my nerves a-quiver—why could we not surprise him there at her side and hurl him over the battlement? Then would Claire, too, be released from danger.

But how to gain the parapet? I saw that it ran along a structure that stretched from the great east tower to a smaller one on the north. Perhaps from the tower there was a door that opened upon it.

But Fronsac of a sudden caught my arm.

“Look!” he cried between his teeth. “God’s blood! Look!”

I looked and saw Mademoiselle start from her companion in anger, stung by his words; but he caught her arm almost fiercely, and drew her to him. I could see the white face she turned to right and left.

“I will end it,” said Fronsac, and stepped from the shadow, musket to shoulder.

But I sprang after him and pulled it down.

“Not that!” I cried. “Not that! That would ruin everything! The garrison would be upon us in a moment!”

He looked at me with working face.

“What then?” he asked. “Quick, Marsan, what then?”

“We must surprise him,” I said. “We must gain the parapet. I too have an account to settle with that scoundrel!”

“But how?” he demanded. “Quick!”

“The tower!” I cried.

He hastened after me back to the door. I took care to lock it behind us—at least, we would be secure against surprise from that direction. Then we sped up the stair—up and up. At last, peering from one of the narrow windows, I saw we were on a level with the parapet, but there was no door—only the solid wall of stone.

Fronsac was cursing softly to himself.

“You should have let me end it down below!” he cried. “Now we shall be too late!”

“Come, there must be some way,” I muttered in perplexity. “Let us go down a flight.”

We retraced our steps, quivering with impatience. But a cry of joy burst from Fronsac as we gained the lower floor.

“There is a door!” he said.

And, sure enough, there it was—a little door of oak, set firmly in the masonry. I held the torch near it and examined it intently.

“Well, we must pause here,” I said at last, “unless, by chance, Drouet carried a key to this also. Let us see.”

I ran rapidly through the bunch I had taken from him, trying one after another, but not one would throw back the bolt.

“Come, let us go down again,” cried Fronsac. “I have still the musket,” and he started down the stair.

I caught at the door and pulled at it savagely. It swung open in my hand.

Then I saw what fools we had been. Small wonder none of our keys would throw the bolt, since it was already thrown! Roquefort must have passed that way to gain the parapet. Then he must still be there! And my heart was beating savagely as we stole through the door and up a short flight of steps. In a moment I saw the stars above me and felt the fresh air of the night upon my face.

Darkness had come in earnest, and even here, high on the parapet, there was only the dim light of the stars. I feared that at the first turn we should run into a sentry, but we had no time to waste in hesitation.

“Do not fire!” I cautioned Fronsac. “What we do must be done silently,” and gripping my poniard—Drouet’s poniard—tightly, I stepped out. For a moment I could see nothing, and then, away in front of us, I caught a glimpse of two dim figures.

Fronsac saw them in the same instant, and would have sprung forward but that I held him back.

“Softly,” I whispered. “Softly. We must surprise him, or he will outwit us yet. Give him an instant’s warning, and he might hold us off till aid arrived. We must take no chances.”

“As you will,” he answered sullenly, and I saw he was hot to be at Roquefort as was I.

I crouched low into the shadow of the battlement, and, motioning Fronsac to follow, stole slowly forward. As we drew near I saw that Roquefort still held the girl by the arm.

“You will listen to reason,” he was saying roughly. “Not to-morrow but the next day shall you be wedded. I will provide the man—and while he may not be a beauty, I am sure he will love you as you deserve. There is no way out, Mademoiselle, I swear it. I am not like to permit such a pretty bird to slip through my fingers.”

She was looking at him now with defiant eyes. It was easy to see that the spirit of M. le Comte lived in her also.

“You are wasting words, Monsieur,” she said quite coldly. “I have already told you my determination,” and she made a little gesture towards the cliff. “A leap and it is over. Think you I should hesitate when I knew that on the other side lay a life-time of infamy? You do not know me, Monsieur!”

Roquefort laughed harshly.

“’Tis easy said, but not so easy done,” he retorted. “Death is not pleasant when one looks it in the face. Besides, I shall take care of you. I shall see that this pretty flesh be not wasted in such a way. Some man must have it to wife first!”

I heard a low cry of rage behind me, and Fronsac leaped past me and upon this libertine. I saw Roquefort wheel sharp round at the sound of footsteps, but Fronsac was upon him ere he could draw his sword. The musket flashed in the air, but the other stepped lightly to one side and the blow fell harmless. Then I was upon him too.

Oh, but he was a man!—a match for both of us almost. I struck at his throat to drown the cry I knew would come, but he caught my wrist and held it in a grasp of iron. I felt him turning the point towards my breast, and struck madly at his face; then Fronsac’s musket rose again, there was a sickening blow, and his grip upon my wrist relaxed. For a breath he stood staring wildly into my eyes, then slipped limply down at my feet upon the parapet.

“He is done!” panted Fronsac. “Curse him! He is done!”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes,” and looked down at him.

But my friend had turned towards the figure which stood sobbing softly against the wall.

“Valérie!” he called, and I saw her sway forward into his arms with a little answering cry. No more I saw, for I turned my back, as I would have others do when I meet my love after long absence and many perils. Yet I could spare them but a moment.

“We must go,” I said, and touched Fronsac gently on the arm. “Come, Monsieur. For love you have a hundred to-morrows, but for escape only to-night.”

He swung around upon me, and I could see how his eyes were shining.

“Marsan,” he said out of a full heart, “I want you to know Mademoiselle de Cadillac—I must tell her how much we owe you.”

I looked into her eyes and saw love and joy flaming there. Verily, it was a good thing to have brought these two together!

“Valérie,” he added, “it is Marsan here who has saved us—who has devised this wonderful plan of escape——”

“It was not I at all, Mademoiselle,” I protested, but she silenced me with a little gesture.

“There!” she cried, and it was wonderful to see how fatigue and fear had slipped from her. “I quite know what to believe, M. le Marsan! Some time, perhaps, we may find a way to repay you.”

I bowed over the hand she gave me. Had I not known another, I might have found it in my heart to envy Fronsac.

“And I,” I said, “am happy in this chance to serve you. Besides, we have not yet escaped—we are not yet at the end of the journey. It is foolish to linger here. We must be going.”

“True,” said the girl, and came suddenly back to earth. “Lead on, Monsieur. We will follow.”

As we turned, I heard a groan at my feet.

“So he is not yet dead,” muttered Fronsac between his teeth, and picked up his musket for another blow. “Well, we will finish it.”

But I caught his arm and held it back.

“No, no,” I protested. “Not that. He is not a man to kill here like a dog. Let us find some other way?”

“What other way can there be?” demanded my friend impatiently.

“We must not leave him lying here for the sentries to stumble over,” I said. “We must conceal him somewhere.”

“Well?” and Fronsac made a gesture towards the battlement. “The cliff will settle all that.”

But again I shook my head. He was worthy a better fate. Besides, to kill a wounded man——

“Let us take him with us down into the tower,” I said at last. “They will not find him there, and we can still end it should there be need.”

“As you will,” assented Fronsac shortly, and we caught him by leg and shoulder and staggered towards the stair that led downward to the tower door. As we stumbled forward I tried in vain to pierce the gloom before us.

“Softly,” I whispered. “There is a sentry at either end of the parapet.”

“Not to-night,” said Mademoiselle quickly. “I heard M. le Duc dismiss them just before he came to me.”

I breathed more freely. Certainly Roquefort would not wish to be overheard, yet still this was an unexpected bit of fortune.

Down the stair we tugged him and through the little door, which I locked carefully behind us. We propped our burden in one corner with his back against the wall. He was breathing deeply, with a hoarse, guttural sound, which I felt certain was the death-rattle. There was nothing we could do for him, and we went on down the tower stair, bearing the torch with us. At the foot another narrower flight plunged downward into the living rock of the cliff. I hastened down it, the others following without question. Down and down it went—at what a cost of labor must it have been constructed! At last I was stopped by a little door set in the rock. A coil of rope lay before it.

Fronsac gazed a moment at rope and door, then up into my eyes.

“I begin to understand,” he said. “But can we open that door, my friend?”

“We must,” I answered. “There is no other way.”

But I confess my heart fell as I examined it more closely, for it seemed as strong as the cliff itself. A dozen bolts, seemingly, buried in the very heart of the oak, held it to the rock. I could catch a glimpse of them as I pressed my torch to the crevice between wood and stone, and I could see how heavy they were. But to move them—to throw them back. I tried all the keys on Drouet’s ring; not one of them would serve. I battered at the door with the musket, but could not even shake it. The sweat broke out across my forehead at the thought that this might be the end. I looked up and saw Fronsac watching me with a face from which he tried in vain to banish his concern.

“We have still at least four hours,” I said, with what cheerfulness I could muster, and turned back again to the door.

Could I but cut the wood away I might yet throw back the bolts with the end of my poniard. I hacked at it fiercely. It seemed hard as iron and I could tear away but a splinter at a time. At the end of half an hour I had made little progress.

I paused a moment to take breath.

“The watches are not changed till midnight,” I said, seeing Fronsac’s despairing face and that of Mademoiselle. “We have near four hours yet, my friend.”

But as I turned again to the task, a sudden clatter reached us from the hall above as of some one pounding on the tower door. I understood in an instant, and was up the stair in three bounds.

“This way, men!” shouted a hoarse voice. “This way! Rescue!”

I sprang blindly forward, groped an instant in the darkness, and dragged Roquefort back from the door, cursing my folly at leaving him unbound.

For from the court came an answering shout, a rush of feet, and the wood groaned under a great blow.