Phillippe was lying on the floor, starring at the ceiling, when he heard the most beautiful sound in the world.
"Phillippe?" whispered Celeste. "Phillippe, wake up!" she hissed through the bars as she struggled to turn the key in rusty lock.
He sat up.
She dimpled a smile at him. "Ready?"
He bounded to his feet and came to the bars. "You I knew you'd come."
Celeste finally got the key to turn. "You didn't think I'd leave my King in a prison as foul as the Bastille, did you?"
The doors swung open and he came out.
"How did you…"
"No time for that now," said Celeste. She dropped the keys into the cell next to his, on the chest of a thin, wretched prisoner.
The man sat up and stared at the ring of keys in his hands. He looked up at them.
Aramis made the sign of the cross.
"Go with God," said Celeste.
"May God bless you," quavered the man. "For surely you are an angel."
Celeste smiled slightly. "An angel from hell perhaps." She grabbed Phillippe's wrist and pulled. "Let's go."
They hurried back the way they had come. Back up the stairs, through a corridor, and they where halfway up the second flight of stairs, when they stopped. They turned and hurried back down them.
"Someone's coming," whispered Aramis.
They dove into either side of the corridor and drew their swords.
Suddenly a man stepped into the corridor. And found four swords at his throat.