I urged Manon to hasten away, for a dead man was beyond all need of aid from us, and I was in terror lest we should be arrested by the Watch, who would be sure to make their appearance before long. With her and the turnkey I turned into the first narrow street that crossed the one we were in. Manon was so completely prostrated by what had happened that it was with difficulty that I prevented her from falling. At last I saw a hackney carriage at the end of the street. We got into it; but when the driver asked me whither he should take us, I was at a loss for an answer. I knew of no secure place of refuge, and of no trusty friend to whom I should be safe in appealing.
I was almost penniless, having barely more than half a pistole in my purse. Manon was so overcome with terror and fatigue that she was nearly swooning beside me. My imagination, moreover, was filled with the murder of Lescaut, and I was not yet free from apprehension regarding the Watch. What was to be done?
By a happy inspiration I thought of the inn at Chaillot, at which I had spent some days with Manon when we first went to make our home in that village. There I hoped we might not only find a safe retreat, but be able to live for some time without being pressed for payment.
"Drive to Chaillot," I said to the coachman. He refused to go there at so late an hour for less than a pis-
