CHAPTER XXXV
The ledge of rock upon which Baron d’Escorval and Corporal Bavois rested in their descent from the tower was very narrow.
In the widest place it did not measure more than a yard and a half, and its surface was uneven, cut by innumerable fissures and crevices, and sloped suddenly at the edge. To stand there in the daytime, with the wall of the tower behind one, and the precipice at one’s feet, would have been considered very imprudent.
Of course, the task of lowering a man from this ledge, at dead of night, was perilous in the extreme.
Before allowing the baron to descend, honest Bavois took every possible precaution to save himself from being dragged over the verge of the precipice by the weight he would be obliged to sustain.
He placed his crowbar firmly in a crevice of the rock, then bracing his feet against the bar, he seated himself firmly, throwing his shoulders well back, and it was only when he was sure of his position that he said to the baron:
“I am here and firmly fixed, comrade; now let yourself down.”
The sudden parting of the rope hurled the brave corporal rudely against the tower wall, then he was thrown forward by the rebound.
His unalterable sang-froid was all that saved him.
For more than a minute he hung suspended over the abyss into which the baron had just fallen, and his hands clutched at the empty air.