“Be prudent yourself, Hans.”
“Ah! This is nothing more than child’s play for me!”
Lighting a cigar, he took his leave. The garden was dark. He proceeded, without the slightest noise, along the edge of the turf; gliding along like a shadow. On reaching the gate he opened it noiselessly, and remained there a moment against the wood panel, so as not to be noticed from the road. Then he looked all around, as though possessed of the faculty of seeing in the darkness. After a moment’s hesitation he set out in the direction of Ars. It would have been impossible for any one coming behind him to believe that he had come from the garden of the villa.
When he had advanced a hundred yards the branches of a bush silently separated on the opposite side of the road, and another man, in his turn, appeared. He was the stone-breaker who had been working for the past few days at the Cavée. Walking along in step with Hans, he, too, made his way towards the town.
CHAPTER IV
On leaving Marcel, Baudoin, after obtaining permission to keep watch over the laboratory, had gone out on to the main road. It was dark. Taking his pipe, he filled it with tobacco, then halting near the pillar which served for Laforêt’s correspondence, he struck a match. By the light he examined the plaster, and discovered the following inscription in red pencil, “This evening. Nine.” The old soldier lit his pipe, looked at his watch, and muttered to himself—
“Nine o’clock to-night. At last! I will go and wait for him.”
He made his way towards the inn, which was no longer dark and silent as usual. A vivid light shone through the glass on the door, and a rumbling sound arose from the bar. Baudoin drew near one of the windows on the ground floor, and listened through the shutters. A voice, as of some one delivering a discourse, could be heard, interspersed from time to time with shouts and exclamations. At one time it sounded louder and more violent, and a thunder of applause rang through the room, as though all the tables had been struck at one and the same time by the robust fists of the men present.
“The deuce!” said Baudoin; “this place does not seem very safe for one belonging to the master’s household. The strikers have met at the Soleil d’Or, and they appear to be paying favourable attention to one of their usual haranguers.”
Making the round of the house, he reached the door of the courtyard, and looked around for an entrance into the kitchen, where he expected to find his friend the innkeeper. A hand was placed on his shoulder. Turning round, he recognized Laforêt, who had arrived, noiselessly, and was standing by his side.