As silently as ever he stole back to the mat, raised it, crawled into the hole once more, and disappeared like the phantoms who sink through trap-doors at the opera.
It was high time, for he was no sooner back in his cell, than he heard Ascanio's door grinding on its hinges, and his friend's voice crying, in the tone of one suddenly aroused from sleep,—
"Who's there?"
"I," responded a soft voice, "do not be afraid, for it is a friend."
Ascanio, who was but half dressed, rose at the sound of the voice, which he seemed to recognize, and saw by the light of his lamp a veiled woman standing by the door. She slowly approached him and raised her veil. He was not mistaken,—it was Madame d'Etampes.
XVI
WHEREIN IT IS PROVED THAT A GRISETTE'S LETTER,
WHEN IT IS BURNED, MAKES AS MUCH FLAME
AND ASHES AS A DUCHESS'S
There was upon Anne d'Heilly's mobile features an expression of sadness mingled with compassion, which deceived Ascanio completely, and confirmed him, even before she had opened her mouth, in the impression that she was entirely innocent of any share in the catastrophe of which he and Colombe were victims.
"You here, Ascanio!" she said in a melodious voice; "you, to whom I would have given a palace to live in, I find in a prison!"
"Ah, madame!" cried the youth, "it is true, is it not, that you know nothing of the persecution to which we are subjected!"