“Then, monsieur,” said Lavenne, “I will not give a denier for M. Camus’ life after midnight to-night.”
“He will save the hangman some trouble,” said Sartines, taking a pinch of snuff. “And it will be interesting to watch—yes—very interesting to watch.” Then suddenly his face changed in expression. “Dame! I forgot, all this put it out of my head. Rochefort has left Vincennes.”
“M. de Rochefort left Vincennes!” cried Lavenne. “Since when, monsieur?”
“He escaped last night.”
“But—but,” said Lavenne. “He had agreed to stay. He quite understood his danger. This is strange news, monsieur.”
“He must have got tired of prison,” said Sartines. “That devil of a man never could be easy anywhere, and not only that, he has let out Ferminard.”
“But how did they escape, monsieur?”
“How, by means of a rope which M. de Rochefort must have woven out of nothing in three days, by means of a file which he must have invented out of nothing for the purpose of cutting his window-bar, by half strangling the gaoler and leaving him tied up on the floor—I do not know, the thing was a miracle, but it was done.”
“And you have heard nothing of him this morning?”
“Nothing.”