attention. "Once out of the prison,
write to Boivin, the _restaurateur_ of the '_Scelerat_,' and tell him
that an escaped convict has scruples for the danger into which he has
brought a poor boy, one of his 'Marmitons,' and whom, by a noxious drug,
he has lulled into insensibility, while having exchanged clothes, he has
managed his escape. Boivin will comprehend the danger he himself runs by
leaving me here. All will go well--and now there's not a moment to lose.
Take up your basket, and follow the others."

"But the falsehood of all this," cried the Pere.

"But, your life and mine, too, lost, if you refuse," said I, pushing him
away.

"Oh, Maurice, how changed have you become!" cried he, sorrowfully.

"You will see a greater change in me yet, as I lie in the sawdust
beneath the scaffold," said I, hastily. "Go, go."

There was, indeed, no more time to lose. The muster of the prisoners was
forming at one end of the chamber, while the "Marmitons" were gathering
up their plates and dishes, previous to departure, at the other; and it
was only by the decisive step of laying myself down within the recesses
of the window, in the attitude of one overcome by sleep, that I could
force him to obey my direction. I could feel his presence as he bent
over me, and muttered something that must have been a prayer. I could
know, without seeing, that he still lingered near me, but as I never
stirred, he seemed to feel that my resolve was not to be shaken, and at
last he moved slowly away.

At first the noise and clamor sounded like the crash of some desperate
conflict, but by degrees this subsided, and I could hear the names
called aloud, and the responses of the prisoners, as they were "told
off" in parties from the different parts of the prison. Tender
leave-takings and affectionate farewells from many who never expected to
meet again accompanied these, and the low sobs of anguish were mingled
with the terrible chaos of voices; and at last I heard the name of
"Michel Delannois:" I felt as if my death-summons was in the words
"Michel Delannois."

"That crazy priest can neither hear nor see, I believe," said the
jailor, savagely. "Will no one answer for him?"

"He is asleep yonder in the window," replied a voice from the crowd.

"Let him sleep, then," said the turnkey "when awake he gives us no peace
with his prayers and exhortations."

"He has eaten nothing for three days," observed another; "he is,
perhaps, overcome by weak