Jacques Collin held out his hands, and Bibi-Lupin snapped on the manacles.
“Well, now, since you are feeling so good,” said he, “tell me how you got out of the Conciergerie?”
“By the way you came; down the turret stairs.”
“Then have you taught the gendarmes some new trick?”
“No, Monsieur de Granville let me out on parole.”
“You are gammoning me?”
“You will see. Perhaps it will be your turn to wear the bracelets.”
Just then Corentin was saying to Monsieur de Granville:
“Well, monsieur, it is just an hour since our man set out; are you not afraid that he may have fooled you? He is on the road to Spain perhaps by this time, and we shall not find him there, for Spain is a whimsical kind of country.”
“Either I know nothing of men, or he will come back; he is bound by every interest; he has more to look for at my hands than he has to give.”