his name?"

"He is called Bavois, and he is a corporal in the first company of
grenadiers."

"Bavois," repeated Martial, as if to fix the name in his memory;
"Bavois. My father will find some pretext for desiring him summoned."

"It is easy to find a pretext. He was the brave soldier left on guard at
Escorval after the troops left the house."

"This promises well," said Martial. He had risen and gone to the
fireplace in order to be nearer his father.

"I suppose," he continued, "the baron has been separated from the other
prisoners?"

"Yes, he is alone, in a large and very comfortable room."

"Where is it?"

"On the second story of the corner tower."

But Martial, who was not so well acquainted with the citadel as his
father, was obliged to reflect a moment.

"The corner tower!" said he; "is not that the tall tower which one sees
from a distance, and which is built on a spot where the rock is almost
perpendicular?"

"Precisely."

By the promptness M. de Sairmeuse displayed in replying, it was easy
to see that he was ready to risk a good deal to effect the prisoner's
deliverance.

"What kind of a window is that in the baron's room?" inquired Martial.

"It is quite large and furnished with a double row of iron bars,
securely fastened into the stone walls."

"It is easy enough to cut these bars. On which side does this window
look?"

"On the country."

"That is to say, it overlooks the precipice. The devil! That is a
serious difficulty, and yet, in one respect, it is an advantage, for
they station no sentinels there, do they?"

"Never. Between the citadel wall and the edge of the precipice there
is barely standing-room. The soldiers do not venture there even in the
daytime."

"There is one more important question. What is the distance from
Monsieur d'Escorval's window to the ground?"

"It is about forty feet from the base of the tower."

"Good! And from the base of the tower to the foot of the precipice--how
far is that?"

"Really, I scarcely know. Sixty feet, at least, I should think."

"Ah, that is high, terribly high. The baron fortunately is still agile
and vigorous." The duke began to be impatient.

"Now," said he to his son, "will you be so kind as to explain your
plan?"

Martial had gradually resumed the careless tone which always exasperated
his father.

"He is sure of success," thought Marie-Anne.

"My plan is simplicity itself," replied Martial. "Sixty and forty are
one hund