"But there are two things that hold the shelf up. Is it the one on this side that you press or the one on that side?"
"Dear me, what an aggravating boy! It's the one this side, of course."
"Good! You lie down now and I'll have it open in a jiffy."
He started to force Alice behind the shelter, for the heat was actually blistering the skin, but to his surprise he found her suddenly limp in his arms. Having spoken these strange words of wisdom or of folly, she had gone back into unconsciousness.
Coquenil believed that they were words of wisdom, and without a moment's hesitation, he acted on that belief. The wall underneath the shelf was half covered with piled-up logs and these must be removed; which meant that he must work there for several minutes with the fierce breath of the fire hissing over him.
It was the work of a madman, or of one inspired. Three times Coquenil fell to the floor, gasping for breath, blinded by the flames that were roaring all about him, poisoned by deadly fumes. The skin on his arms and neck was hanging away in shreds, the pain was unbearable, yet he bore it, the task was impossible, yet he did it.
At last the space under the shelf was cleared, and staggering, blackened, blinded, yet believing, Paul Coquenil stumbled forward and seized the left-hand bracket in his two bruised hands and pressed it with all his might.
Instantly a door underneath, cunningly hidden in the wall, yawned open on a square black passage.
"It's here that the fairies play," muttered M. Paul, "and it's a mighty good place for us!"
With a bound he was back at the shelter and had Alice in his arms, smiling again, as she slept—as she dreamed. And a moment later he had carried her safely through flames that actually singed her hair, and laid her tenderly in the cool passage. And beside her he laid the baron's diary!