“In truth,” replied the officer, “I never heard such shouts.”
“They seem to have found out the cell of the man. Look, look! is not that the window of the cell where Cornelius was locked up?”
A man had seized with both hands and was shaking the iron bars of the window in the room which Cornelius had left only ten minutes before.
“Halloa, halloa!” the man called out, “he is gone.”
“How is that? gone?” asked those of the mob who had not been able to get into the prison, crowded as it was with the mass of intruders.
“Gone, gone,” repeated the man in a rage, “the bird has flown.”
“What does this man say?” asked his Highness, growing quite pale.
“Oh, Monseigneur, he says a thing which would be very fortunate if it should turn out true!”
“Certainly it would be fortunate if it were true,” said the young man; “unfortunately it cannot be true.”
“However, look!” said the officer.