They reached the outer gate at length, where the last guardian sat, keys in hand, one for the iron grating, the other for the wicket beyond, and La Valette was soon outside but not yet free. The sedan chair was there, but no chairmen, no servants. The fugitive got inside under the sentry’s eyes, and shrunk back behind the curtains to avoid observation, but still a prey to the keenest anxiety and ready for any desperate act. Two minutes passed, and seemed a whole year. Then a voice cried, “The fellow has disappeared, but I have got another chairman,” and the sedan was now lifted from the ground and carried across the street, to where a carriage was in waiting on the Quai des Orfevrés. The transfer was quickly effected, the horses whipped up and started at a rapid trot across the Saint Michel Bridge, and so by the rue de la Harpe to the rue Vaugirard behind the Odéon. La Valette began at last to have hope of liberty, which grew when he recognised in the coachman a devoted friend, the Comte de Chasseuon, who spoke to him encouragingly, saying there were pistols in the carriage and that they must be used if required. As the carriage drove on, La Valette exchanged his woman’s clothes for a groom’s suit, and when it stopped he jumped out at the bidding of his friend, M. Baudus, who was to act as his new master.
It was now eight in the evening, pitch dark and the rain falling in torrents; the neighborhood was deserted and silent save when the sound of galloping horses’ hoofs were heard, and several gensdarmes passed at a hard gallop. No doubt the escape had been discovered, and pursuit had begun. La Valette, wearied and agitated, having lost one shoe, walked on as best he could, through the mud, following his master into the door of a house in the rue de Grenelle, which was actually the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the residence of the Duc de Richelieu. M. Baudus stopped to speak a few words to the Swiss after bidding La Valette to run up-stairs. “Who is that?” asked the Swiss. “My servant,” replied M. Baudus, “going up to his own room.” This was enough for La Valette, who hastened to the third floor, where some one met him, and without speaking led him into a room, the door of which was immediately closed on him. There was a stove alight, giving out heat and flame, and La Valette, stretching out his hands to warm them, touched a match box and a candle. He at once accepted this as permission to light up. He found himself in a good sized garret, furnished comfortably with bed, chest of drawers and a table, on which was a scrap of paper with a few words. “Make no noise, only open the window at night time, put on slippers and have patience.” On this table was also a bottle of excellent Burgundy, several books and a basket containing toilet appliances. He had fallen among friends certainly, but why in this house, under the same roof as a department of State, presided over by a perfect stranger, the Duc de Richelieu? But M. Baudus was an employee in the office, and he remembered perhaps the Eastern proverb that “the thief in hiding is safest under the walls of the King’s castle.” It seemed, however, that a certain Madame Bresson, whose husband was cashier in the Foreign Office, had resolved to help the first fugitive seeking safety, in gratitude for the escape of M. Bresson on a previous occasion. The two were now moved to pity and indignation at the ignoble spite vented by the government, and their cruel treatment of political enemies.