“And the next day,” he said, “when I am back, how will you explain that hole?”
Blangin smiled.
“Be sure,” he replied, “I won’t say the rats did it. I have thought of that too. At the same time with you, another prisoner will run off, who will not come back.”
“What prisoner?”
“Trumence, to be sure. He will be delighted to get away, and he will help you in making the hole in the wall. You must make your bargain with him, but, of course, without letting him know that I know any thing. In this way, happen what may, I shall not be in danger.”
The plan was really a good one; only Blangin ought not to have claimed the honor of inventing it: the idea came from his wife.
“Well,” replied Jacques, “that is settled. Get me the pickaxe and the crowbar, show me the place where we must make the hole, and I will take charge of Trumence. To-morrow you shall have the money.”
He was on the point of following the jailer, when Dionysia held him back; and, lifting up her beautiful eyes to him, she said in a tremor,—
“You see, Jacques, I have not hesitated to dare every thing in order to procure you a few house of liberty. May I not know what you are going to do in that time?”
And, as he made no reply, she repeated,—