"I have never said there was no subterranean passage under the Conciergerie," he replied. "Here is Gracchus, who has been turnkey for ten years, and consequently is as familiar with the whole of the Conciergerie as he is with the alphabet, and yet he ignores the existence of the vault of which the Citizen Giraud has spoken. However, as the Citizen Giraud is the city architect, he ought to know better than any of us. It is his business."
Théodore shivered from head to foot on hearing these words.
"Fortunately," murmured he, "the hall is large, and before they find what they search for, two days at least must expire."
But the architect opened his great roll of papers, put on his spectacles, and knelt down to examine the plan by the flickering light of the lantern which Gracchus held in his hand.
"I fear," said Santerre, ironically, "that the Citizen Giraud has been dreaming."
"You will see, Citizen General, if I am a dreamer. Wait a little; wait!"
"You see we are waiting," said Santerre.
"Good!" said the architect; and he began to calculate. "Twelve and four make sixteen," said he, "and eight are twenty-four, which, divided by six, makes four, and then half remains; that is it. I can tell the very spot; and if I am mistaken by so much as a foot, you may henceforth dub me an ass."
The architect pronounced these words with an assurance which curdled the blood of the Citizen Théodore.
Santerre regarded the plan with a species of respect, but evidently admired more than he comprehended it.