l to his justice, not to his clemency. With the
chill breeze, there had entered the tinkle of the cow-bell, and the
voices of children singing. These called up a vivid picture of the
valley, as he had seen it on entering his prison--the small green level,
the gushing stream, the sunny rock, the girl with her distaff, tending
the goats. He thought he could show his title to, at least, a free
sight of the face of nature; and the impulse did not immediately die.
During the morning, he listened for footsteps without. After some
hours, he smiled at his own hope, and nearly ceased to listen. The face
of the rock grow dim; the wind rose, and sleet was driven in at the
window: so that he was compelled to use his stiff and aching limbs in
climbing up to shut it. No one had remembered, or had chosen to make
his fire; and he was shivering, as in an ague fit, when, late in the
afternoon, Bellines brought in his second meal, and some fuel.

"The Commandant?"

"The Commandant is not in the castle. He is absent to-day."

"Where?"

"They say the First Consul has business with him."

"With me rather," thought Toussaint. He said aloud, "Then he is gone
with my servant?"

"May be so. They went the same road; but that road leads to many
places."

"The road from Pontarlier?"

"Any road--all our roads here lead to many places," said Bellines, as he
went out.

"Poor Mars Plaisir!" thought Toussaint, as he carefully placed the wood
so as to tempt the feeble blaze. "Our road has seemed the same for the
last eight months; but it leads to widely different points. I rejoice
for him that his has parted off to-day; and for myself, though it shows
that I am near the end of mine. Is it this soldier, with comrades, who
is to end me? Or is it this supper, better drugged than that of last
night? Or will they wait to see whether solitude will kill a busy,
ambitious Commander-in-Chief, as they think me?"

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

FREE.

Day after day passed on, and the prisoner found no change in his
condition--as far, at least, as it depended on his gaolers. He was more
ill as he became enveloped in the damps of the spring; and he grew more
and more sensible of the comfort of being alone. Death by violence,
however, did not come.

He did not give over his concern for Mars Plaisir because he was glad of
his absence. He inquired occasionally for the Commandant, hoping that,
if he could see Rubaut, he might learn whether his