ad deposited on the floor at his feet. He was turning around and around
very quickly, by this movement unwinding a long rope which had been
twined around his body as thread is wound about a bobbin.

M. d'Escorval rubbed his eyes as if to assure himself that he was
not dreaming. Evidently this rope was intended for him. It was to be
attached to the broken bars.

But how had this man succeeded in gaining admission to this room?
Who could it be that enjoyed such liberty in the prison? He was not a
soldier--or, at least, he did not wear a uniform.

Unfortunately, the highest crevice was in such a place that the visual
ray did not strike the upper part of the man's body; and, despite the
baron's efforts, he was unable to see the face of this friend--he judged
him to be such--whose boldness verged on folly.

Unable to resist his intense curiosity, M. d'Escorval was on the point
of rapping on the wall to question him, when the door of the room
occupied by this man, whom the baron already called his saviour, was
impetuously thrown open.

Another man entered, whose face was also outside the baron's range of
vision; and the new-comer, in a tone of astonishment, exclaimed:

"Good heavens! what are you doing?"

The baron drew back in despair.

"All is discovered!" he thought.

The man whom M. d'Escorval believed to be his friend did not pause in
his labor of unwinding the rope, and it was in the most tranquil voice
that he responded:

"As you see, I am freeing myself from this burden of rope, which I find
extremely uncomfortable. There are at least sixty yards of it, I should
think--and what a bundle it makes! I feared they would discover it under
my cloak."

"And what are you going to do with all this rope?" inquired the
new-comer.

"I am going to hand it to Baron d'Escorval, to whom I have already given
a file. He must make his escape to-night."

So improbable was this scene that the baron could not believe his own
ears.

"I cannot be awake; I must be dreaming," he thought.

The new-comer uttered a terrible oath, and, in an almost threatening
tone, he said:

"We will see about that! If you have gone mad, I, thank God! still
possess my reason! I will not permit----"

"Pardon!" interrupted the other, coldly, "you will permit it. This is
merely the result of your own--credulity. When Chanlouineau asked you to
allow him to receive a visit from Mademoiselle Lacheneur, that was the
time you should have said: 'I w