She thought of her poor little pupils, now thrown upon the world without a protector.

Whilst these ideas were revolving in her mind one night as she lay awake, she heard the door of her chamber open softly, and a soldier, one of her guards, with a light in his hand, entered; he came to the foot of her bed, and, as she started up, laid his finger upon his lips.
"Don't make the least noise," said he in a whisper; "those without are drunk, and asleep.

Don't you know me ?--don't you remember my face ?" "Not in the least; yet I have some recollection of your voice." The man took off the bonnet-rouge--still she could not guess who he was.
"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.