“Mon Dieu!” cried Rochefort. “Who is that speaking, and where are you?”
“Here, Monsieur de Rochefort, in the next chamber to yours. I heard your voice and recognized it talking to that fat-headed Bonvallot, and I said there must be a hole in the wall somewhere to let a voice come through like that; so I searched for it and found it. The hole is under my bed. A large stone has been removed, evidently by some industrious rat of a prisoner, who never could complete his business. Search for the hole on your side, Monsieur de Rochefort.”
Rochefort pulled his bed out from the wall, and there, surely enough, was a hole about a foot square in the wainscoting. He lay down on his face and tried to look through into the next chamber, but the wall was three feet thick and the head of his interlocutor on the other side blocked the light, so that he could see nothing.
“Here is the hole,” said he, “but I can see nothing. Who are you?”
“Who am I? Did you not recognize my voice? Hé, pardieu, I am Ferminard. Who else would I be?”
“Ferminard! Just heaven! and what on earth are you doing here?”
“Doing here? I am hiding from Monsieur de Choiseul. What else would I be doing here?”
“Hiding from Choiseul! Explain yourself, Monsieur Ferminard.”
“Well, Monsieur Rochefort, it was this way. After that confounded presentation, I had an interview with Monsieur Lavenne, one of Monsieur de Sartines’ agents, and as a result of that interview, I consented to place myself under the protection of Monsieur de Sartines for a short time. You can very well guess, monsieur, the reason why, especially as it was brought to my knowledge that Monsieur de Choiseul had wind of my hand in that affair, and was about to search for me.”
“Oho!” said Rochefort. “That is why you are here.”