Roy drew one quick breath. Then he tossed more bits of wood into the hotte. He cast another glance at the man, his whole being on the alert. In an instant he saw again the small French town, the crowd in front of the hôtel de ville, the released conscript, the old mother clinging to Denham's hands, and Den's pitying face.
"Jean Paulet!" he breathed.
"Oui, m'sieu. Hist!"
Jean piled some of the wood together with unnecessary noise.
"Will m'sieu not betray that he knows me?"
"Oui." Roy threw two more pieces of wood into the hotte. Then he stood up, yawned, and gazed listlessly in another direction. After which he hung lazily over the hotte, as if to play with the wood. A touch of cold steel came against his left hand.
"Hist!" at the same instant, as Roy grasped the something, and slipped it instantly out of sight. His right hand still turned over the wood.
"Bon!" murmured Jean, making a clatter. "Listen! If m'sieu will file away the bar of his window—ready to be removed—I will be there, outside, to-morrow night, after dark. When m'sieu hears a whistle—hist! But truly this weight is considerable—oui, m'sieu, and a poor man like me may not complain."
Jean hitched up the big hotte, now full, and passed on, grumbling audibly, while Roy strolled back to his former position. His heart was beating like a hammer, and to return to his former attitude of dejection was not easy, with new life stirring in every vein. He managed, however, to avoid observation, and when two o'clock came it was a relief to be alone in his cell. He could safely there fling his arms aloft in a frenzy of delight.
If only little Will might have escaped with him!