Ascanio was taken aback for a moment by this unanswerable arithmetic; but suddenly he cried, striking his forehead with his hand:—
"Ah! I have an idea! Look!"
"Where?"
"There!" said Ascanio; "there!"
"That's not an idea you are pointing at," rejoined the student, "but an oak tree."
There was in truth a huge oak growing near the outer edge of the moat, the upper branches of which gazed inquisitively over the wall of the Séjour de Nesle.
"What? don't you understand?" cried Ascanio.
"Yes! yes! I begin to see through it now. Yes, it's the very thing. I see it all. The oak and the wall form part of the arch of a bridge which your ladder will complete: but the abyss yawns beneath, my friend, and an abyss full of mud. The devil! we mustn't forget that. I am wearing my best clothes, and Simonne's husband is beginning to grumble about giving me credit."
"Help me to hoist the ladder," said Ascanio; "that's all I ask of you."
"Aha!" said the student, "and I am to stay below! Thanks!"