"Nothing more simple, monsieur; I asked for a bell, which was given me, then I saved some oil from my breakfasts and dinners, till I had a bottle full; I made wicks by unraveling one of my handkerchiefs; I picked up a pebble when I was walking in the yard; I made some tinder with burned linen; I stole some matches when I dined at the governor's: then I struck a light with a knife, which I possess; and with the aid of which I made the hole through which we correspond."
"Receive my compliments, monsieur, you are a man of great invention."
"Thank you, monsieur; will you now see what book has been sent you, and what is written on the paper of the pot of sweetmeats."
"Monsieur, the book is a Virgil."
"That is it—she promised it to me," cried the voice, in an accent of happiness which surprised the chevalier, who could not understand that a Virgil should be so impatiently expected.
"Now," said the prisoner with the bell, "pass on, I beg, to the pot of sweetmeats."
"Willingly," said Gaston, and he read:
"Monsieur le Chevalier—I hear from the lieutenant of the prison that you occupy the room on the first floor, which has a window immediately below mine. Prisoners should aid and help each other; eat the sweetmeats, and pass the Virgil up to the Chevalier Dumesnil, whose chimney looks into the court."
"That is what is expected," said the prisoner with the bell; "I was told at dinner to-day that I should receive this message."
"Then you are the Chevalier Dumesnil?"