“On the country.”
“That is to say, it overlooks the precipice. The devil! That is a serious difficulty, and yet, in one respect, it is an advantage, for they station no sentinels there, do they?”
“Never. Between the citadel wall and the edge of the precipice there is barely standing-room. The soldiers do not venture there even in the daytime.”
“There is one more important question. What is the distance from Monsieur d’Escorval’s window to the ground?”
“It is about forty feet from the base of the tower.”
“Good! And from the base of the tower to the foot of the precipice—how far is that?”
“Really, I scarcely know. Sixty feet, at least, I should think.”
“Ah, that is high, terribly high. The baron fortunately is still agile and vigorous.” The duke began to be impatient.
“Now,” said he to his son, “will you be so kind as to explain your plan?”
Martial had gradually resumed the careless tone which always exasperated his father.