"Not to hurt yourself."
"Not to hurt myself—then what is there in the parcel?"
"A brace of double-barrelled pistols, ready loaded."
I understood that with the help of these pistols the prisoners might perhaps be able to escape, or at least, if the worst came to the worst, to blow out their brains.
"Mother," I said, "it seems to me that instead of carrying the packet, which might be noticed, and consequently taken away from me, it would be very much better if I were to put a pistol in each of my trousers pockets."
"But if you were to be wounded."
"Oh! don't be afraid; I can manage better than that," and in a trice I untied the parcel, and handled the triggers of the four barrels in a manner worthy of a pupil of Montagnon.
"All right," said my mother, somewhat reassured by the proof of my dexterity I had just given her; "I believe you are right; put the pistols in your pocket, and take great care the butts do not touch. Now here is a little roll."
This roll reminded me of the precious box whose cover the mole had eaten.
"Ah! there is gold inside?" I exclaimed.