ied that they
could but take steps of a foot in length. Shuffling along, they made
their way down three successive corridors and through three doors, each
of which was locked and barred behind them. Then they ascended a
winding stone stair, hollowed out in the centre by the feet of
generations of prisoners and of jailers, and finally they were thrust
into a small square dungeon, and two trusses of straw were thrown in
after them. An instant later a heavy key turned in the lock, and they
were left to their own meditations.

Very grim and dark those meditations were in the case of De Catinat.
A stroke of good luck had made him at court, and now this other of ill
fortune had destroyed him. It would be in vain that he should plead his
own powerlessness. He knew his royal master well. He was a man who was
munificent when his orders were obeyed, and inexorable when they
miscarried. No excuse availed with him. An unlucky man was as
abhorrent to him as a negligent one. In this great crisis the king had
trusted him with an all-important message, and that message had not been
delivered. What could save him now from disgrace and from ruin?
He cared nothing for the dim dungeon in which he found himself, nor for
the uncertain fate which hung over his head, but his heart turned to
lead when he thought of his blasted career, and of the triumph of those
whose jealousy had been aroused by his rapid promotion. There were his
people in Paris, too--his sweet Adele, his old uncle, who had been as
good as a father to him. What protector would they have in their
troubles now that he had lost the power that might have shielded them?
How long would it be before they were exposed once more to the
brutalities of Dalbert and his dragoons? He clenched his teeth at the
thought, and threw himself down with a groan upon the litter of straw
dimly visible in the faint light which streamed through the single
window.

But his energetic comrade had yielded to no feeling of despondency.
The instant that the clang of the prison door had assured him that he
was safe from interruption he had slipped off the bonds which held him
and had felt all round the walls and flooring to see what manner of
place this might be. His search had ended in the discovery of a small
fireplace at one corner, and of two great clumsy billets of wood, which
seemed to have been left there to serve as pillows for the prisoners.
Having satisfied himself that the chimney