The latter led them through several passages, and up various stairs, and then stopped before a door, garnished with formidable bolts.
"It is here," he said.
The Count then turned to Bouillot, and affectionately offered him his hand.
"Farewell, my old friend," he said to him in a gentle but firm voice, while a vague smile played round his lips.
"Farewell, till we meet again," Bouillot said, with a stress on the words. Then he took leave of him, and withdrew, with his eyes full of tears.
The door closed with a mournful sound on the prisoner.
"Oh!" the old servant muttered, as he pensively went down the turret stairs, "Woe to those who venture to oppose the Count, if ever he leaves his prison again! And he shall do so, I swear it, even if I must risk my life in securing his escape."