As he spoke he drew from under his long overcoat a strong iron crowbar and a small vial of brandy, both of which he laid upon the bed. He then took the candle and passed it five or six times before the window.
“What are you doing?” inquired the baron in suspense.
“I am signalling to your friends that everything is progressing favourably. They are down there waiting for us; and see they are now answering.” The baron looked, and three times they both perceived a little flash of flame, such as is produced by burning a pinch of gunpowder.
“Now,” said the corporal, “we are all right. Let us see what progress you have made with the bars.”
“I have scarcely begun,” murmured M. d’Escorval.
The corporal inspected the work. “You may indeed say that you have made no progress,” said he; “but never mind, I was ‘prenticed to a locksmith once, and I know how to handle a file.” Then drawing the cork from the vial of brandy, he fastened it to the end of one of the files, and swathed the handle of the tool with a piece of damp linen. “That’s what they call putting a stop on the instrument,” he remarked, by way of explanation. Immediately afterwards he made an energetic attack on the bars, and it was at once evident that he had by no means exaggerated either his knowledge of the task, or the efficacy of his precautions for deadening the sound. The harsh grating which had so alarmed the baron was no longer heard, and Bavois, finding he had nothing more to dread from the keenest ears, now made preparations to shelter himself from observation. Suspicion would be at once aroused if the gratings in the door were covered over, so the corporal hit upon another expedient. Moving the little table to another part of the room, he stood the candle-stick on it in such a position that the window remained entirely in shadow. Then he ordered the baron to sit down, and handing him a paper, said: “Now read aloud, without pausing for a minute, until you see me stop work.”
By this method they might reasonably hope to deceive the guards outside in the corridor; some of whom, indeed did come to the door and look in; but after a brief glance they walked away, and remarked to their companions: “We have just taken a look at the prisoner. He is very pale, and his eyes are glistening feverishly. He is reading aloud to divert his mind. Corporal Bavois is looking out of the window. It must be dull music for him.”
They little suspected why the baron’s eyes glistened in this feverish fashion; and had no idea that if he read aloud it was with the view of overpowering any suspicious sound which might result from Corporal Bavois’ labour. The time passed on, and while the latter worked, M. d’Escorval continued reading. He had completed the perusal of the entire paper, and was about to begin it again, when the old soldier, leaving the window, motioned him to stop.
“Half the task is completed,” he said in a whisper. “The lower bars are cut.”
“Ah! how can I ever repay you for your devotion!” murmured the baron.