My last words were to Alixe. The great moment of my life was come.
If I could but say one thing to her out of earshot, I would stake
all on the hazard. She was standing beside a cabinet, very still, a
strange glow in her eyes, a new, fine firmness at the lips. I felt
I dared not look as I would; I feared there was no chance now to
speak what I would. But I came slowly up the room with her mother.
As we did so, Doltaire exclaimed and started to the window, and the
Seigneur and Madame followed. A red light was showing on the panes.

I caught Alixe's eye, and held it, coming quickly to her. All backs
were on us. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips suddenly. She
gave a little gasp, and I saw her bosom heave.

"I am going from prison to prison," said I, "and I leave a loved
jailer behind."

She understood. "Your jailer goes also," she answered, with a
sad smile.

"I love you! I love you!" I urged.

She was very pale. "Oh, Robert!" she whispered timidly; and then,
"I will be brave, I will help you, and I will not forget. God
guard you."

That was all, for Doltaire turned to me then and said, "They've
made of La Friponne a torch to light you to the citadel, monsieur."

A moment afterwards we were outside in the keen October air, a