usly the life of the man who had once saved his own.

It seemed like a dream. But a short time before, not one ray of hope
appeared to illuminate the midnight gloom which reigned around him
and within him. Now all was dazzling brightness. It seemed too
bright; it was unnatural; it was too much to hope for. That he should
escape was of itself happiness enough; but that he should also join
Mimi once more, and that he should be joined to her, no more to part
till death, was an incredible thing. Mimi herself must also know
this, and was even now waiting for him, as he was waiting for her.

Claude waited in a fever of impatience. The monotonous step of the
sentry sounded out as he paced to and fro. At times Claude thought he
heard the approach of footsteps, and listened eagerly; but over and
over again he was compelled to desist, on finding that his senses
deceived him. Thus the time passed, and as it passed, his impatience
grew the more uncontrollable. Had it been possible, he would have
burst open the door, and ventured forth so as to shorten his
suspense.

At length a sound of approaching footsteps did in reality arise. This
time there was no mistake. He heard voices outside, the challenge and
reply of the changing guard. Then footsteps departed, and the tramp
died away, leaving only the pacing of the sentinel for Claude to
hear. What now? Was this the sentinel who was to be his friend? He
thought so. He believed so. The time passed--too long a time, he
thought, for the sentinel gave no sign: still he kept up his
monotonous tramp. Claude repressed his impatience, and waited till,
to his astonishment, what seemed an immense time had passed away; and
the sentinel came not to his aid.

Still the time passed. Claude did not know what to think. Gradually a
sickening fear arose--the fear that the whole plan had been
discovered, and that the priest had failed. Perhaps the commandant
had played him false, and had pretended to sympathize with him so as
to draw out his purpose, which he would reveal to Cazeneau, in order
to gain his gratitude, and lay him under obligation. The priest, he
thought, was too guileless to deal with men of the world like these.
He had been caught in a trap, and had involved himself with all the
rest. His own fate could be no worse than it was before, but it was
doubly bitter to fall back into his despair, after having been for a
brief interval raised up to so bright a hope.

Such were the thoughts