“Prove it.”
“Ah! would I not do it if I could?”
“Be good enough, then, to dress, sir, and to follow the gendarmes.”
Without a word, M. de Boiscoran went into his dressing-room, followed by his servant, who carried him his clothes. M. Galpin was so busy dictating to the clerk the latter part of the examination, that he seemed to forget his prisoner. Old Anthony availed himself of this opportunity.
“Sir,” he whispered into his master’s ear while helping him to put on his clothes.
“What?”
“Hush! Don’t speak so loud! The other window is open. It is only about twenty feet to the ground: the ground is soft. Close by is one of the cellar openings; and in there, you know, there is the old hiding-place. It is only five miles to the coast, and I will have a good horse ready for you to-night, at the park-gate.”
A bitter smile rose on M. de Boiscoran’s lips, as he said,—
“And you too, my old friend: you think I am guilty?”
“I conjure you,” said Anthony, “I answer for any thing. It is barely twenty feet. In your mother’s name”—