"Suppose that when Benvenuto demands your liberty, Colombe is already the wife of another, what will you do with your liberty then?"
Ascanio passed one hand across his brow to wipe away the cold sweat which the student's words caused to start thereon, while with the other hand he felt in his pocket for the precious letter; but just as Aubry felt certain that he was on the point of yielding, he shook his head as if to banish all irresolution.
"No!" he said, "no! No no one save Benvenuto. Let us talk of something else."
These words he uttered in a tone which indicated that, for the moment at least, it was useless to insist.
"In that case," said Aubry, apparently forming a momentous resolution; "in that case, my friend, if we are to talk on other subjects we may as well do it to-morrow morning, or later in the day, for I am afraid we may remain here for some time. For my own part, I confess that I am worn out by my tribulations of the day and my labor to-night, and shall not be sorry for a little rest. Do you remain here, and I will go back to my own cell. When you want to see me again, do you call me. Meanwhile, spread this mat over the hole I have made, so that our communications may not be cut off. Good night! the night brings counsel, they say, and I hope that I shall find you more reasonable to-morrow morning."
With that, and refusing to listen to the observations of Ascanio, who sought to detain him, Jacques Aubry plunged head first into his gallery, and crawled back to his cell. Ascanio, meanwhile, following up the advice his friend had given him, dragged the mat into the corner of his cell as soon as the student's legs had disappeared. The means of communication between the two cells thereupon disappeared altogether.
He then tossed his doublet upon one of the two chairs which, with the table and the lamp, constituted the furnishings of his apartment, stretched himself out upon the bed, and, overdone with fatigue as he was, soon fell asleep, his bodily weariness carrying the day over his mental torture.
Aubry, instead of following Ascanio's example, although he was quite as much in need of sleep as he, sat down upon his stool, and began to reflect deeply, which, as the reader knows, was so entirely contrary to all his habits, that it was evident that he was meditating some grand stroke.
The student's immobility lasted about fifteen minutes, after which he rose slowly, and, with the step of a man whose irresolution is at an end for good and all, walked to the hole, and crawled into it again, but this time with so much caution and so noiselessly, that, when he reached the other end and raised the mat, he was overjoyed to perceive that the operation had not aroused his friend.
That was all that the student wished. With even greater caution than he had theretofore exhibited, he crept stealthily forth from his underground gallery, and approached with bated breath the chair on which Ascanio's doublet lay. With one eye fixed upon the sleeping youth, and his ears on the alert for the slightest sound, he took from the pocket the precious letter so eagerly coveted by Cellini, and placed in the envelope a note from Gervaise, which he folded in exactly the same shape as the duchess's letter, sure that Ascanio would believe, so long as he did not open it, that lovely Anne d'Heilly's missive was still in his possession.