M. de Escorval’s heart throbbed almost to bursting. What was coming now?
Had M. de Courtornieu’s counsels carried the day, or had Martial sent someone to aid him?
“We must not be dawdling here,” said the corporal, as soon as the door was closed.
M. d’Escorval bounded from his chair. This man was a friend. Here was aid and life.
“I am Bavois,” continued the corporal. “Someone said to me just now: ‘A friend of the Emperor is in danger; are you willing to lend him a helping hand?’ I replied: ‘Present,’ and here I am!”
This certainly was a brave soul. The baron extended his hand, and in a voice trembling with emotion:
“Thanks,” said he; “thanks to you who, without knowing me, expose yourself to the greatest danger for my sake.”
Bavois shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
“Positively, my old hide is no more precious than yours. If we do not succeed, they will chop off our heads with the same axe. But we shall succeed. Now, let us cease talking and proceed to business.”
As he spoke he drew from beneath his long overcoat a strong iron crowbar and a small vial of brandy, and deposited them upon the bed.