ved.

To save the life of Baron d'Escorval--an enemy--to wrest him from the
execution on the very steps of the scaffold, as it were, seemed to him
a delightful enterprise. And to assure the happiness of the woman he
adored by saving the life of an enemy, even after his suit had been
refused, seemed a chivalrous act worthy of him.

Besides, what an opportunity it afforded for the exercise of his
_sang-froid_, his diplomatic talent, and the _finesse_ upon which he
prided himself!

It was necessary to make his father his dupe. That was an easy task.

It was necessary to impose upon the credulity of the Marquis de
Courtornieu. This was a difficult task, yet he succeeded.

But poor Chanlouineau could not conceive of such contradictions, and he
was consumed with anxiety.

Willingly would he have consented to be put to the torture before
receiving his death-blow, if he might have been allowed to follow
Marie-Anne in her undertakings.

What was she doing? How could he ascertain?

A dozen times during the evening he called his guards, under every
possible pretext, and tried to compel them to talk with him. He knew
very well that these men could be no better informed on the subject than
he was himself, that he could place no confidence in their reports--but
that made no difference.

The drums beat for the evening roll-call, then for the extinguishment of
lights--after that, silence.

Standing at the window of his cell, Chanlouineau concentrated all his
faculties in a superhuman effort of attention.

It seemed to him if the baron regained his liberty, he would be warned
of it by some sign. Those whom he had saved owed him, he thought, this
slight token of gratitude.

A little after two o'clock he heard sounds that made him tremble. There
was a great bustle in the corridors; guards running to and fro, and
calling each other, a rattling of keys, and the opening and shutting of
doors.

The passage was suddenly illuminated; he looked out, and by the
uncertain light of the lanterns, he thought he saw Lacheneur, as pale as
a ghost, pass the cell, led by some soldiers.

Lacheneur! Could this be possible? He doubted his own eyesight. He
thought it must be a vision born of the fever burning in his brain.

Later, he heard a despairing cry. But was it surprising that one should
hear such a sound in a prison, where twenty men condemned to death were
suffering the agony of that terrible night which precedes the day of
execu