they passed the corner of the Rue St. Vannerie, a handsome young man,
whom we have seen before, was pushed forward impatiently by a young lad,
apparently about seventeen. It was the Vicomte Ernanton de Carmainges
and the mysterious page.

"Quick!" cried the page; "throw yourself into the opening, there is not
a moment to lose."

"But we shall be stifled; you are mad, my little friend."

"I must be near," cried the page, imperiously. "Keep close to the
horses, or we shall never arrive there."

"But before we get there, you will be torn to pieces."

"Never mind me, only go on."

"The horses will kick."

"Take hold of the tail of the last; a horse never kicks when you hold
him so."

Ernanton gave way in spite of himself to the mysterious influence of
this lad, and seized the tail of the horse, while the page clung to him.
And thus, through the crowd, waving like the sea, leaving here a piece
of a cloak, and there a fragment of a doublet, they arrived with the
horses at a few steps from the scaffold.

"Have we arrived?" asked the young man, panting.