s was a time for action, not for reflection. The bars were heavy,
and there were two rows of them.

M. d'Escorval set to work.

He had supposed that the task would be difficult. It was a thousand
times more so than he had expected; he discovered this almost
immediately.

It was the first time that he had ever worked with a file, and he did
not know how to use it. His progress was despairingly slow.

Nor was that all. Though he worked as cautiously as possible, each
movement of the instrument across the iron produced a harsh, grating
sound that froze his blood with terror. What if someone should overhear
this noise? And it seemed to him impossible for it to escape notice,
since he could plainly distinguish the measured tread of the guards, who
had resumed their watch in the corridor.

So slight was the result of his labors, that at the end of twenty
minutes he experienced a feeling of profound discouragement.

At this rate, it would be impossible for him to sever the first bar
before daybreak, What, then, was the use of spending his time in
fruitless labor? Why mar the dignity of death by the disgrace of an
unsuccessful effort to escape?

He was hesitating when footsteps approached his cell. He hastened to
seat himself at the table.

The door opened and a soldier entered, to whom an officer who did not
cross the threshold remarked:

"You have your instructions, Corporal, keep a close watch. If the
prisoner needs anything, call."

M. de Escorval's heart throbbed almost to bursting. What was coming now?

Had M. de Courtornieu's counsels carried the day, or had Martial sent
someone to aid him?

"We must not be dawdling here," said the corporal, as soon as the door
was closed.

M. d'Escorval bounded from his chair. This man was a friend. Here was
aid and life.

"I am Bavois," continued the corporal. "Someone said to me just now:
'A friend of the Emperor is in danger; are you willing to lend him a
helping hand?' I replied: 'Present,' and here I am!"

This certainly was a brave soul. The baron extended his hand, and in a
voice trembling with emotion:

"Thanks," said he; "thanks to you who, without knowing me, expose
yourself to the greatest danger for my sake."

Bavois shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

"Positively, my old hide is no more precious than yours. If we do not
succeed, they will chop off our heads with the same axe. But we shall
succeed. Now, let us cease talking and proceed to business."