"You never saw me in a uniform before nor without a black face."
She looked again, and recollected the smith to whom Maurice was bound
apprentice, and remembered his _patois_ accent.
"I remember you," said he, "at any rate; and your goodness to that poor
girl the day her arm was broken, and all your goodness to Maurice. But
I've no time for talking of that now--get up, wrap this great coat round
you--don't be in a hurry, but make no noise--and follow me."
She followed him; and he led her past the sleeping sentinels, opened a
back door into the garden, hurried her (almost carried her) across the
garden to a door at the furthest end of it, which opened into Les Champs
Elysees--"La voila!" cried he, pushing her through the half-opened door.
"God be praised!" answered a voice, which Madame de Fleury knew to be
Victoire's, whose arms were thrown round her with a transport of joy.
"Softly; she is not safe yet--wait till we get her home, Victoire," said
another voice, which she knew to be that of Maurice. He produced a dark
lantern, and guided Madame de Fleury across the Champs Elysees, and
across the bridge, and then through various by-streets, in perfect
silence, till they arrived safely at the house where Victoire's mother
lodged, and went up those very stairs which she had ascended in such
different circumstances several years before.
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