The Road to Paris: A Story of Adventure

by Robert Neilson Stephens

  CHAPTER XVII.

  "STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE."

  The chill and rainy afternoon gave way to an evening as rainy and morechill. The carriage rolled southward, past St. Ouen, and still on. Thoseinside spoke not a word. The men on the coachman's seat protectedthemselves from the rain with their cloaks as best they could, anduttered no complaint. Dick could see nothing through the carriagewindow, against the dark sky, but the darker forms of trees andbuildings gliding by. He had too much else on his mind to appreciate thefact that he was at last about to enter Paris, the goal of hisdream-journeys in childhood. At first he was in a kind of stupor, andfelt like one hurled through increasing darkness towards blackest night,there to meet annihilation. Then his mind began to work, and soon was ina whirl. Assassination,--he shrank from it with disgust and horror. Thealternative, death,--he recoiled from the idea, as youth and hope evermust recoil. Was there no middle course? He racked his brain to findone; he found it not, yet still he racked his brain.

  It was quite dark now, and they had passed the outer barrier withoutDick's noting the fact. But the houses, now close together and ofdifferent character from those of the village of La Chapelle, indicatedthat the carriage must be in the faubourg, at least. Presently Dickperceived that they were passing beneath a great arch (it was the PorteSt. Denis, erected under Louis XIV., though Dick knew it not); then thatthey turned to the right, and, a minute later, obliquely to the left,finally proceeding along a slightly narrower street than they hadalready traversed. A movement on the part of the man at his right seemedto indicate that the destination was near at hand. They were indeed inthe Rue Clery, and approaching the Rue du Petit Carreau, although thedark streets were nameless to Dick. Suddenly he had an idea. He gave astart, as if he had awakened from a feverish sleep.

  "Messieurs," he said, in a half terrified tone, "I have had a remarkabledream, a wonderfully vivid one, though I have not for a moment lostsense of my being with you in this carriage."

  "It is the time for acts now, not for dreams," said the leader of theBrotherhood.

  "But this dream concerns the act," said Dick, in an awe-stricken manner."It was rather a vision than a dream. I felt, and feel now, as if itwere a message from above."

  "Let us hear it, then," said the leader.

  "I dreamt all had been carried out as planned, up to the moment of mystriking the blow. And then the man caught the sword entering his body,and broke it in two, though the hilt was still in my hand. He drew thepoint from his side, and stood, very little wounded, before me, while Ilooked around in vain for another weapon."

  "A message from God, perhaps," said the leader, "to put you on yourguard against such an outcome."

  "But, monsieur, I had this dream a second time, and then a third, and itwas always precisely the same."

  "It warns you to make the first thrust sure and deep, and to give him noopportunity of grasping your sword."

  "I think, rather, it warns me to provide myself with a second sword. Mykeenest impression in the dream was of chagrin at finding myself withouta second weapon after the first had become useless."

  "You are doubtless right," said the leader. "One to whom a revelation isgiven is the best judge of its meaning. Buckle on one of these swords,in addition to the one you have."

  Dick did as he was bid. A moment later the carriage stopped, close tothe wall of a house at the left side of the street,--for Paris had notfootways then, as London had, and coaches went as near the walls astheir drivers pleased to take them.

  One of Dick's guards got out, Dick followed, the leader came last. Dickcould see that these two grasped their pistols beneath their cloaks. Hewas before a large and imposing house with a rounded facade. Lightsshone through some of the windows. His two guards led him to the door,and one of them knocked. The time seemed incredibly long till theservant came.

  "Monsieur Victor Mayet, clerk in the General Control Office, begs animmediate interview with Monsieur Necker, regarding a matter of theutmost importance," said Dick, with a steadiness that surprised himself.The servant went away. Another, and seemingly longer, interval ensued.At last the servant came back and told Dick to follow.

  Dick stepped forward, and his two guards returned to the coach. Theservant showed the way up a staircase with a handsome balustrade, andthence through one of the doors that opened from the corridor, to a richand elegant apartment, its ceiling painted with mythological pictures,its walls decorated with arabesques and medallions. At a magnificentlycarved and ornamented desk at the farther end of the room, sat agentleman of striking appearance, slender and noble-looking, but haughtyand stiff. The splendid armchair in which he sat was turned sidewisetowards the desk, so that the gentleman, who leaned upon one elbow,faced Dick as the latter entered. Dick stood at a distance, and bowedlow, the distance being warranted by the singularly cold look of thegentleman in the chair. It served, in the soft candle-light, to keepDick's features vague.

  Dick cast a look at the servant, whereupon the gentleman motioned thelatter from the room. Then, his coat still clutched tight over hisswords, Dick said:

  "Is it Monsieur Necker I have the honor of addressing?"

  "If you are a clerk in the General Control Office you must know that itis," said the gentleman, in a dry tone.

  "But I am not a clerk in the General Control Office," said Dick,quietly. "I am, through a strange accident, the chosen instrument of asecret society whose object is to kill you. Don't think I am a madman.What I say is perfectly true. I have taken an oath that requires me tomake an attempt upon your life. But that obligation, through lack offoresight, does not forbid my giving you means of defending yourself;therefore," and here Dick opened wide his coat, and held forth a sword,"I offer you one of these swords, and beg you to stand on guard. Don'tcall for help. If you do that, I must save myself by having at youimmediately. Take the sword, I advise you, for I certainly intend toattack you."

  Monsieur Necker had risen, and he stood looking at Dick in the mostprofound astonishment.

  "'OH, YOU HAVE A VISITOR! MON DIEU, SILVIUS!'"]

  "Why do you keep us waiting, papa?" came a voice from a suddenly openeddoorway, and a moment later a slender figure followed the voice into theroom. "Oh, you have a visitor! _Mon Dieu_, Silvius!"

  "_Mon Dieu_, Amaryllis!" Dick's lips went through the motions of thesewords, but what he uttered were rather the shadows or ghosts of wordsthan words themselves. He continued unconsciously to hold out the swordtowards her father, while gazing at her.

  "What does it mean, papa?" she asked, in a hushed voice that betokenedvague alarm. "Silvius, what are you doing with those swords?"

  Dick's wits returned. "Cannot you see, mademoiselle? I have been chosenby a certain society to make your father a present of them, in token ofthe society's feelings towards him." Whereupon Dick, to show Necker thateverything had been changed by the revelation that he was Germaine'sfather, moved courteously to the desk, laid both swords thereon, andstepped back.

  "Leave us alone, my child," said Necker, gently; "and beg your motherto grant me another half-hour."

  "Very well," said the girl, and then, still somewhat puzzled, but with aparting smile for both Dick and her father, she disappeared through thedoorway.

  "And now you will be good enough to explain this scene?" said Necker, ina tone of authority, having put himself between the swords and Dick.

  "All that I said, before the arrival of mademoiselle, was perfectlytrue," replied Dick. "But now that I find you are her father, what Iproposed is impossible."

  "It is strange you should have known my daughter and not known who herfather was."

  "I made her acquaintance at some children's games, and without learningher name."

  "That a youth who amuses himself at children's games should amusehimself also by belonging to an assassination society, is a novel idea,to say the least."

  "It is a very strange story, monsieur. But if you will take the troubleto look out into the street, you will see a carriage waiting; wi
th itare four men who must be already impatient for my return to them. When Ido return, if I tell them you are alive, they will kill me. If I tellthem you are dead, they will guard me closely while they awaitconfirmation through the public news. When they find that I lied, theywill kill me."

  "It begins to appear as if these men ought to be arrested," said Necker,ringing a bell. He then sat down at the desk and wrote a note, Dickstanding all the while at a respectful distance. A servant entered, and,in response to a slight gesture from Necker, went close to the latter,and received some low-spoken instructions, of which Dick caught only theword "police." The servant then took the note, and hastened from theroom. Throughout this time, Necker had kept an oblique glance on Dick.

  Now that he had not only saved Germaine's father on the present occasionbut had also given him warning against future attempts, Dick had no mindto betray the Brotherhood further. He saw himself between Scylla andCharybdis. On the one hand was the danger of his being called upon tofigure as a witness against men who had spared his own life, and ofbeing mistaken by the world as a common informer. On the other hand wasthe probability of his being sought and punished with death by theBrotherhood, for, though four of its members might be arrested, thereremained a dozen others as resolute, to hunt him down wherever he shouldtake refuge.

  Monsieur Necker began to question him, but he refused to disclose theslightest additional fact regarding the society. "It is enough," saidDick, "that its purpose is defeated through your being now on your guardfor the future." He gave his name, though, with his St. Denis abode, andNecker made a note of them.

  From the street below came the sound of a pistol-shot, and then of acarriage rattling off over the stones. Necker flung open a window, andsaw the carriage fleeing in one direction, his own servant in another.As Dick guessed, his guards had divined the errand of the servantleaving the house by a side door, and had sought their own safety, afterhaving vainly tried to stop the messenger with a shot. It was a reliefto Dick to know that the four were thus out of danger of arrest.

  Seeing the present futility of questions, Necker took up the matter ofDick's own future safety from the Brotherhood. The two were in the midstof this discussion, when the tramp of several men was heard on thestaircase, then in the corridor. Necker's face took on a peculiar lightas the door opened and in came a uniformed official, followed by a squadof armed men and conducted by the servant who had been sent with thenote.

  "A moment, monsieur," said Necker to the officer, whereupon thenewcomers all bowed and stood still. Necker proceeded to fill in theblank spaces of a document he had meanwhile taken from a drawer in hisdesk, and to which a signature and seal were already affixed. He thenheld this out to the officer, who advanced to take it.

  "You will send four of your men immediately as this gentleman's escort,to the place mentioned in that order," said Necker, speaking to theofficer, but motioning towards Dick. "As for you and the rest of yourforce, remain here,--I shall have work for you."

  While the officer, having read the written order, gave it with somewhispered directions to one of his men, Necker addressed Dick thus:

  "Young gentleman, you will not have to fear any present danger from thiswell-disposed society of which you have spoken. The place to which youare about to be conducted will be a safe refuge. I feel it is my duty toprovide for your protection in this manner."

  "I thank you, monsieur," said Dick, bowing.

  The man who now held the written order, politely motioned Dick to gobefore him from the room. Preceded by two men, and followed by two, Dickwent down the staircase and out to the rain-beaten street. There theparty waited, while one of the men hastened off on some errand. He soonreturned, sitting beside the driver, on a large carriage. The man inauthority opened the carriage door, sent one comrade inside, thencourteously begged Dick to enter, then followed in turn, and wasfinally joined by his remaining comrade. The man with the driverremained where he was. The man in command thrust his head out andshouted the destination to the driver, then closed the door. Dick gave aviolent start.

  "To the Bastile," was what the man had called out.

  Why had Dick not thought of this possibility sooner?--he asked himself.There were two very obvious reasons, if not more, why Necker should wishto keep him caged. First, imprisonment might induce him to break hissilence as to the Brotherhood's place of meeting and as to what nameshis eye had caught during the signing of his own to the list. Secondly,his disclosure, with every attendant circumstance, might be suspected ofbeing a ruse to gain favor, similar to that by which Latude had broughtwell-nigh a lifetime of captivity upon himself; for men who devise suchruses are to be held as dangerous.

  Yes, imprisonment was the logical conclusion of this incident. Dickshuddered as the word "Bastile" repeated itself in his ears. It had afar more formidable sound than that of Newgate, though, thank heaven, afar more gentlemanly one. And so Dick was now about to round out hisprison experience, begun in America as a prisoner of war, and resumedin London as a civil prisoner, by being a prisoner of state in France!He sighed, and resigned himself to the inevitable. He looked not intothe future. He might be out again in a day, or he might pine in hiscage, purposely forgotten, the rest of his years. Well, well, no reasonto be downcast! "Heart up, lad!" he said within himself, in the languageof old Tom MacAlister; "wha kens the morrow's shift of the wind ofcircumstance?"

  After a long ride through streets of frowning houses, the carriageapproached an open "place" or square, at one side of which Dick couldmake out, through the window, a huge rectangular building whose uniformtowers, bulging out at regular intervals from straight stone walls,darkened the sky above an outer wall that enclosed the whole edifice.That end of the building which fronted the square contained two of thetowers. Towards this front the carriage drove, crossing a drawbridge,and stopping for the man in command to show his order to the guardofficer.

  Dick was then driven past the outer guard-house, crossed a secondbridge, a court, and other enclosures, and finally arrived at a secondguard-house, where he was put down and his name entered on the prisonregister. He was then given into the charge of a squad of men, and bythese conducted to an interior paved court, to which an iron-gratedgate opened, and which seemed like the bottom of a vast well. This wasthe inside of the rectangle bounded by the eight towers and theirconnecting walls.

  By the light of lanterns, Dick was led through a door at the side, andthence, through corridors and up steep stairways, to a large cell. Thelantern's light showed a bare stone-floored chamber, with a table, astool, a small bed, an empty fireplace, and in the wall an aperture inwhose depths, though it was designed to serve the purpose of a window,Dick's sight was lost before coming to the outer end. Before he had timeto ask a question, his conductors had closed the door upon him, turnedits heavy lock, and left him alone in the darkness.

  He had been searched in the guard-house, but not required to put onother clothes. Pleased at this, and at his not having been shackled, hegroped his way to the bed, undressed, and fell into a deep sleep. Soended the, to him, eventful day of Wednesday, March 12, 1777.

  He was visited on Thursday by Monsieur Delaunay, the governor of theBastile, and on Friday by the lieutenant of police, each accompanied tothe cell door by soldiers. Each tried by questions, vague promises, andimplied threats, to make him speak of the Brotherhood. Their attemptsfailing, the governor visited him a week later, thinking imprisonmentmight have had effect upon him. The governor spoke incidentally of thedungeons, nineteen feet below the level of the courtyard, and five feetbelow that of the ditch, their only opening being a narrow loophole tothe latter. But Dick only smiled. A fortnight elapsed before thegovernor's next appearance, and still Dick was as silent on the onetopic as ever. The hint as to the dungeon was not carried out. Perhapsthe worthy governor received more money for the food of a prisoner in anupper cell than for that of a prisoner in a dungeon, and consequentlycould make more by underfeeding him. The governor now allowed a month topass before renewing his persuas
ions; after that, two months; and thenhe came no more.

  Meanwhile, Dick had little to complain of. In fact, many an honest andhard-working man of talent nowadays might envy such a life as theordinary prisoner in the Bastile could lead, especially in the reign ofLouis XVI. Such a prisoner's state, in those old days of tyranny andoppression, was heavenly, compared with that of an innocent man merelyawaiting trial in the prison of a police court in New York City in thishappy age of liberty and humanity.

  Dick was allowed to walk, under guard, not only in the interior court,but also in a small garden on one of the bastions, where the pure airwas sweetened by the perfume of flowers. He was permitted to have books,some of which were lent him by the governor, the royal intendant, thesurgeon, and other officers, and some of which were bought, at hisrequest, out of money allowed for his food. Could he have afforded itout of his own purse, he might have hired a servant, furnished his roomluxuriously, dressed in the height of fashion, eaten of the choicestdelicacies, practised music and participated in concerts got up underthe governor's patronage, kept birds or cats or dogs, and otherwisebrought to himself the world to which he was forbidden from going. Thecomforts of the Bastile, however, were at that time accessible to onlyabout half a dozen prisoners besides Dick. In 1761 there had been onlyfour. In 1789, when the Bastile was destroyed, there were only seven.

  But Dick, who lived in an age when young men of talent did not set uponleisure the value they give it in this overworking period, pined for theopen. He began to grudge the time lost in captivity, and the fear grewon him that he was doomed indeed to forgetfulness. Summer came and went.The flowers in the elevated garden withered. Autumn winds howled aroundthe towers, and winter snow was lodged on the lofty platforms. Thebeginning of December brought Dick, through the lieutenant of theBastile garrison, the news that in America the British had takenPhiladelphia, but that their Northern army, under Burgoyne, hadsurrendered at Saratoga, and that the glorious victory had been largelywon by his own old commanders, Arnold and Morgan. Such tidings made Dickeager to be out in the world. At night he would fall asleep, gazing atthe dying embers in his fireplace, and dream of broad fields, boundlessstretches of varied country over which he could speed with bird-likeswiftness, barely touching the ground with his feet. At last he resolvedto uncage himself.

  The aperture that served as his cell window was defended by iron bars aninch thick, so crossing one another that each open space was but twoinches square. There were three such gratings. As Dick was high up inthe tower, the outer end of this aperture was at a great distance fromthe earth. Dick turned from this opening in despair, put out his fire,stooped into the fireplace, and examined the interior of the chimney. Itwas not very far from the bottom to the top, but the way was guarded byseveral iron bars and spikes, securely fixed in hard cement. They hadthe look of being less difficult to unfasten than the bars in the windowseemed. Dick resolved to attack the obstructions in the chimney.

  There was no iron in his cell, his scanty furniture being joined bywooden pegs. The stone of his cell floor was so soft that the firstpiece of it he succeeded in detaching crumbled like plaster against thehard cement of the chimney. What was he to do for an instrument withwhich to scrape free the iron bars from the cement in which they wereset? His lucky star sent him an inspiration in the shape of a toothache.

  By patiently and painfully forcing aside his gum with a chip offire-wood, and by strong exertions of thumb and forefinger, he succeededin extracting the tooth after several hours' excruciating pain andlabor. With the tooth itself he hollowed out of a fagot's end a place inwhich afterward to set its root, which he then fastened securely in thishandle by means of extemporized wooden wedges. He thus had a scraper, soadjusted that he could apply his full strength in using it. This he hidin his bed.

  He then unravelled underclothing, handkerchiefs, and cravat, and twistedthe threads into a rope, to which he tied, at intervals of one foot,small wooden bars to serve as hand-holds and foot-rests. All this workwas done at times when he was least likely to be visited by any officialor attendant of the prison.

  He tied a heavy fagot, six inches long, to the end of his rope, and bydint of much practice he finally managed to throw this end up thechimney and over one of the iron bars therein. He then swung his ropeabout until it was so entangled with the suspended fagot as to remainfast to the bar when he put his weight on it. Armed with his scraper, hethen mounted by the rope to the iron bar, undid and lowered the rope'send that had the fagot, thus giving himself a double rope to cling to,and began work with the scraper on the cement that held one of the otherbars than that over which the rope was thrown. Habit had taught him tosee in the dimmest light, and his fingers to find their way in totaldarkness. To his joy he soon found that the hard enamel of his tooth hadeffect on the surface of the cement.

  With what difficulty and pain he worked, supported by his fragile ropeladder, compelled to brace himself against the sides of the chimney, andoften to find relief from his cramped position by hanging to the ironbar, is hardly to be imagined. When he desisted he had to descend by thedouble rope, then let go of one end and draw the rope by the other endover the bar, for the rope also had to be hidden in his bed when not inuse.

  When not working in the chimney, Dick made additional rope, for thatpurpose unravelling all of his clothing and bedding that would not bemissed by any who might enter his cell. He continued to borrow books,and as he now asked for such as he was already acquainted with,--eitherFrench works that he knew through translation, or French versions ofEnglish works,--he could talk so well of their contents that theofficers he occasionally met supposed him to pass all his time inreading. So apparent was his seeming contentment, that no one suspectedhim of desiring to escape. But that desire increased daily. It was onlystimulated by the news, in February, that France had recognized theindependence of his country and formed an alliance with it.

  In less than eight months after setting to work, he had opened a waythrough the chimney. So slender was he, and so supple, that he found hehad not to remove all the bars, for he could wriggle between some ofthem and the chimney wall. Those that he did unfasten he replacedloosely in position after each period of work. He now estimated that hehad nearly two hundred feet of rope, and he had been told correctly thatthe towers of the Bastile were nearly two hundred feet high. By thefirst of August, 1778, all was ready; and Dick waited only for a darkand rainy night.

  Such a night came on Wednesday, August 5th. Dick had walked in the courtthat afternoon, under a steady downpour of the kind that laststwenty-four hours or more, and he felt assured of a black sky for thenight. He attached his rope in the usual manner, ascended the chimney,removed the loosely replaced iron bars, one by one, climbed by the ropeto the highest of the bars he had left fast, squeezed through betweenthat bar and the chimney wall, attached the rope's end to his waist, andthen laboriously worked his way up the rest of the chimney with armsand legs, rubbing the skin off elbows and knees in doing so. At last heemerged from the top of the chimney, and, after resting a minute,dropped on the flat roof of the tower.

  For some time, the darkness and rain hid everything from Dick's sight.But at last, having meanwhile drawn the full length of rope after himfrom the chimney, he could make out vaguely the dark houses and streetsstretching far away below. By sheer force of will, and by confiningevery thought and moment to his work, he kept himself from turning giddyat the height.

  The lofty platform of the Bastile was surmounted by ordnance, even as inthe days of the Fronde, when the "great Mademoiselle" had fired the gunson the soldiers of Turenne. Dick fastened his rope around one of thesecannon, and threw the loose end over the battlement of a corner tower.He believed that the rope would reach down almost to the fosse, whichseparated the prison from the outer wall. This ditch was twenty-fivefeet deep, but was usually kept dry. Along the inside of the outer wallran a wooden gallery, which was paced by sentinels and was reached frombelow by two flights of steps.

  It was Dick's plan to drop fro
m the rope's end to the fosse, slink upthe steps under cover of darkness and rain, elude the sentinels, reachthe top of the outer wall, and drop therefrom to the ground outside,trusting to his lightness and his luck to make this last fall an easyone. He had obtained his knowledge of his surroundings from a book ofmemoirs that he had read in his cell, written by a gentleman who hadbeen imprisoned in the Bastile under the Regency.

  He clambered over the battlement, took a good hold of his slender rope,or, rather, of one of the wooden rounds knotted to it, and let down hisweight over the outer edge of the battlement, grasping at the same timethe next lower round with his other hand. He had an instant of giddinessand weakness, at the discovery that the rope swung far out in the air,the wall being overhung by the battlements. He hardened his muscles andsomewhat overcame this momentary feeling. But his arms trembled as hecautiously disengaged one hand and sought the next round below.

  In this manner, swaying in the air, and feeling sometimes as if thetower were leaning over upon him, and at other times as if it werereceding so as to leave him quite alone between earth and sky, hegradually made the descent. It began to seem as if the rope wereendless, as if he were doomed forever to descend towards an earth thatfell back from him as he approached. But at last his feet felt about forthe rope below, in vain. His hands soon confirmed the discovery that hewas at the rope's lower end, to which a stout piece of wood wasattached. Yet he was still far from the fosse; indeed, he saw, withdismay, that he was a good distance above the level of the outer wall.

  To drop from such a height would be suicide. To climb back to the top ofthe tower was impossible; his strength was almost gone.

  Thanks to the darkness and to the noise of the rain, he had not beenseen by the sentinels. It was a time for desperate expedients. He hadnoticed that, whenever the rope swung him close to the tower wall, itswung back to a corresponding distance outward. He now swung in, and, inrebounding, struck his feet against the tower in such manner as topropel him farther outward on the return swing. He next guided himselfso as to swing clear of the rounded surface of the tower and yet so asto kick the tower in passing, and thus to gain additional space andforce for his pendulum-like movement through the air. Continuing thus,and describing a greater arc at each swing, he found at last that hisoutward swing brought him almost directly above the outer wall. At thenext swing, he let the rope go, with the hope of landing somewhere onthe outer wall, which was so near that the fall would not beexceptionally dangerous.

  Through the air he was hurled, far beyond the outer wall. He hadmiscalculated. For an instant he was aware of this, and gave himself upas a dead man. He knew that no human bones could withstand such acollision with solid earth as he was about to experience. Heinstinctively made himself ready for the shock. It came,--with a splash,an immersion, a gurgling, and a further descent through muddy water. Hehad dropped into the aqueduct of the Fosse St. Antoine.

  The ten feet of water then in the aqueduct sufficiently broke his fall,and he rose to the surface in a state of amazement. As there was nodemonstration from the wall over which he had swung, he inferred thatthe sound of the rain had drowned the splash of his contact with thewater. He clambered up the bank, slunk along the outer wall of theBastile, and emerged in the square before the Porte St. Antoine.

  Westward lay the city proper, eastward the Faubourg St. Antoine, withhighways leading to the open country. The first faint sign of dawn wasappearing, so many hours had Dick been employed in his escape. The rainwas still descending, and the water of the ditch was dripping from hisclothes. He stood still for a moment, gazing at the dark roofs of Paris;then he turned his back upon them, and looked towards the two streetsthat opened before him. He chose that towards the right, and plungedinto it. It led him southeastward.

  By full dawn he had passed through some open fields to the country, forthe great circular wall completed under Napoleon had not then been evenauthorized. Regaining the highway, he proceeded towards Charenton,making on this occasion more haste on the road _from_ Paris than he hadever made on the road thereto.

  He was moneyless, hatless, clad in outer garments only, his inner oneshaving gone to make rope. As the morning advanced, people on the roadstared at him with curiosity. Near Charenton he stepped aside to let apost-carriage pass towards Paris. To his surprise, the occupant of thecarriage, having observed him in passing, thrust a good-natured face outof the window, ordered the postilion to stop, and called to Dick:

  "My friend, you look wet!"

  "I _am_ wet," replied Dick, who had not moved since the carriage hadgone by.

  "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" asked the gentleman in thecarriage.

  "The same question was on the tip of my tongue," said Dick. "But I havealready answered it." And then he spoke in English. "Good morning, LordGeorge!"

  "Why, damme if it isn't Wetheral!" Lord George Winston also spokeEnglish now, and a very pleased and friendly expression came over hisface.

  "Yes, it is Wetheral, and in much the same condition as when he firsthad the honor of meeting you."

  "Egad, so it seems! Come, then, let me play the Good Samaritan again!"

  "I don't see how I can refuse you, my lord," said Dick, looking down athimself.

  "Good! Wilkins, open the door for Mr. Wetheral."

  "A moment, my lord. Where are you going?"

  "To Paris, of course."

  "Then I thank you, but I have important business in the oppositedirection."

  "Oh, come into the carriage! I shall not be in Paris long. I've come upfrom Fontainebleau, to engage a secretary. Then I am going to make atour of France and Germany."

  "Do you want a secretary? I am sure I should make a good secretary."

  "Why, you are a gentleman."

  "Do you want an hostler for a secretary, then?"

  "Why, if you really wish it, the post is open to you."

  "Then I accept it on the spot."

  "Then I have no need to go to Paris. Get in, Mr. Secretary."

  Dick obeyed with alacrity, Lord George ordered the postilion to turnaround, and soon they were whirling through Charenton, on the road toMelun, Dick telling Lord George his story, and receiving the latter'sunsolicited promise to back whatever assertions might become necessaryto show that his lordship's secretary was not the man who had escapedfrom the Bastile.