"My legs are quite numbed," said Gourel, "and my feet feel as if they were on ice. What a funny sensation!" He bent down to rub them and went on: "Why, it's not on ice that my feet were, but in water. . . . Look, chief . . . there's a regular pool near the first door. . . ."
"Soaked through," M. Lenormand replied. "We'll go back to the second door; you can dry yourself . . ."
"But what are you doing, chief?"
"Do you think I am going to allow myself to be buried alive in this vault? . . . Not if I know it; I haven't reached the age! . . . As the two doors are closed, let us try to pass through the walls."
One by one he loosened the stones that stood out at the height of his hand, in the hope of contriving another gallery that would slope upwards to the level of the soil. But the work was long and painful, for in this part of the tunnel, as he perceived the stones were cemented.
"Chief . . . chief," stammered Gourel, in a stifled voice. . . .
"Well?"
"You are standing with your feet in the water."
"Nonsense! . . . Why, so I am! . . . Well, it can't be helped. . . . I'll dry them in the sun. . . ."
"But don't you see?"