“Monsieur,” said Lavenne, resting his hand on a chair-back as if for support, “I have had a bad time, but I will soon get over it. Meanwhile, I have an important report to make.”
“Sit down,” said de Sartines.
He rang the bell and ordered some wine to be sent up immediately. “And now,” said he, when the other had set down his glass, “tell me first where have you come from?”
“I have come from the Catacombs of Paris, monsieur, where I have been trapped and wandering since I don’t know when.”
“From the Catacombs?”
“Yes, monsieur, or rather from the plain of Mont Souris to which the gallery which I pursued led me.”
“But what were you doing in the Catacombs?”
“Trying to escape, monsieur, and I can only say this, that I hope never to have a similar experience.”
Then rapidly he began to tell of his visit to Camus’ house, of the laboratory, of what he had seen, and of his escape.
“I had to choose between three corridors, monsieur, and the one I chose led me to a blank wall. I had to come back, which took me a day. I had to go most of the time in darkness to husband the candles I had with me.