“Confound your rules—There, you can leave me, I am going to get up—and do not forget the writing materials when you come next. I will write the governor a letter—or will some soldier have to read it over his shoulder?”
Bonvallot went out grinning. Rochefort had paid him well for the clean linen and other attentions and he hoped for better payment still.
Then Rochefort got up, still grumbling. The labours of the night before at the bar, and his dreams in which those labours were continued, had not improved his temper. He drank his coffee and ate his roll and then turned to the window to see by daylight what progress he had made with the saw. He was more than satisfied; quite elated also to find that the top part of the bar, just where it entered the stone, had become spindled by rust. Were he to succeed in cutting through the lower part a vigorous wrench would, he felt assured, bring the whole thing away.
He took the little saw from the place where he had hidden it the night before, and, inspired with new energy, set to work.
He felt no fear of being caught; the size of the saw made it easily hidden, the cut in the bar would only be seen were a person to make a close inspection. The noise of the saw was negligible.
Whilst he was so engaged, Ferminard’s voice broke in upon his labours.
“Good-morning, M. de Rochefort.”
“Good-morning, M. Ferminard—what is it you want?”
“Only a little conversation, monsieur.”
“Well, that is impossible as I am busy.”