"But to come to the point. It was thought that my brother ran some risk in the prison at Avignon, and it was to protect him that he was removed to the other end of France. I wish to see him. To whom ought I to apply to obtain this favor?"
"Why, madame, to the very president to whom you have that letter."
"What sort of a man is he?"
"A prudent man, but well-meaning, I hope. I will have you taken to his house whenever you wish."
Mademoiselle de Fargas drew out her watch. It was scarcely half-past five in the morning.
"But I cannot present myself at such an hour," she said. "Shall I go to bed? I am not sleepy." Then, after thinking for a moment, she asked: "On what side of the town is the prison?"
"If madame would like to take a turn that way," replied Master Servet, "I would beg the honor of accompanying her."
"Very well, sir. Send me a glass of milk, coffee, tea, whatever you please, and finish your toilet. While I am waiting for leave to enter, I should like to see the walls behind which my brother is confined."
The innkeeper made no remark; the desire was a natural one. He went down and sent her in a cup of coffee and some milk. Ten minutes later she came down and found him dressed in his Sunday clothes, ready to guide her through the streets of the little town, which was founded by the Benedictine Saint-Amand, and in whose church Charles the Bold sleeps more tranquilly than ever he did in life.
The town of Nantua is not large. A five minutes' walk brought them to the prison, where they found a crowd full of excitement.