But he waited in vain. No one came.
He took up his pen, and was about to write, when he heard a bustle in the corridor outside. The clink of spurs resounded on the flags; he heard the sharp clink of the rifle as the guard presented arms.
Trembling, the baron sprang up, saying:
“They have come at last!”
He was mistaken; the footsteps died away in the distance.
“A round of inspection!” he murmured.
But at the same moment, two objects thrown through the tiny opening in the door of his cell fell on the floor in the middle of the room.
M. d’Escorval caught them up. Someone had thrown him two files.
His first feeling was one of distrust. He knew that there were jailers who left no means untried to dishonor their prisoners before delivering them to the executioner.
Was it a friend, or an enemy, that had given him these instruments of deliverance and of liberty.