had been on the watch with his
eye at a peephole in a window looking out on the prison-yard.

"Not one of them recognized him," said Monsieur Gault, "and Napolitas,
who is on duty, did not hear a word. The poor priest all through the
night, in his deep distress, did not say a word which could imply that
his gown covers Jacques Collin."

"That shows that he is used to prison life," said the police agent.

Napolitas, Bibi-Lupin's secretary, being unknown to the criminals
then in the Conciergerie, was playing the part of the young gentlemen
imprisoned for forgery.

"Well, but he wishes to be allowed to hear the confession of the young
fellow who is sentenced to death," said the governor.

"To be sure! That is our last chance," cried Bibi-Lupin. "I had
forgotten that. Theodore Calvi, the young Corsican, was the man chained
to Jacques Collin; they say that on the hulks Jacques Collin made him
famous pads----"

The convicts on the galleys contrive a kind of pad to slip between their
skin and the fetters to deaden the pressure of the iron ring on their
ankles and instep; these pads, made of tow and rags, are known as
patarasses.

"Who is warder over the man?" asked Bibi-Lupin.

"Coeur la Virole."

"Very well, I will go and make up as a gendarme, and be on the watch; I
shall hear what they say. I will be even with them."

"But if it should be Jacques Collin are you not afraid of his
recognizing you and throttling you?" said the governor to Bibi-Lupin.

"As a gendarme I shall have my sword," replied the other; "and, besides,
if he is Jacques Collin, he will never do anything that will risk his
neck; and if he is a priest, I shall be safe."

"Then you have no time to lose," said Monsieur Gault; "it is half-past
eight. Father Sauteloup has just read the reply to his appeal, and
Monsieur Sanson is waiting in the order room."

"Yes, it is to-day's job, the 'widow's huzzars'" (les hussards de la
veuve, another horrible name for the functionaries of the guillotine)
"are ordered out," replied Bibi-Lupin. "Still, I cannot wonder that the
prosecutor-general should hesitate; the boy has always declared that he
is innocent, and there is, in my opinion, no conclusive evidence against
him."

"He is a thorough Corsican," said Monsieur Gault; "he has not said a
word, and has held firm all through."

The last words of the governor of the prison summed up the dismal tale
of a man condemned to die. A man cut off from among the