General Kollnitz received them with his usual kindness, and Gavin felt a qualm at the thought of the perplexity and chagrin in which they were about to plunge the old gentleman. Liberty, however, was too dear to be forsworn; and they both knew it to be their duty, as well as their right, to make every effort to restore their services to their own country. Thoughts of the same kind had passed through St. Arnaud’s brain, and he had said to Gavin the night before:
“Our oath obliges us to do all in our power to annoy the enemy. Egad, we will annoy the enemy fearfully in this case—poor, dear old Kollnitz! I believe he will be more annoyed at having his record broken than at the loss of our valuable company; that is, if—” St. Arnaud made a significant pause.
Neither he nor Gavin indicated by the flutter of an eyelash that a moment of destiny was approaching. The short January twilight made candles necessary before dinner was half over, and then a heavy fog crept down the mountains, and enveloped town and fortress in a white and death-like mist. The ground was covered with snow, and General Kollnitz shivered as he said:
“Ugh! To take my rheumatism out a night like this!”
By what seemed a strange fatality the conversation turned on escapes from prison, and the general said frankly: “I pride myself not on the strength of my bolts and bars, but on the inability of an escaped prisoner or deserter to get beyond the radius in which he is sure to be captured. I believe it has been proved that human ingenuity can break through any bond which human ingenuity can devise. But under my system every peasant within ten miles is made a scout the instant the guns are fired; and the prospect of a hundred florins sharpens their wits amazingly.”
Gavin and St. Arnaud frankly agreed with him that the real difficulties existed outside rather than inside the prison.
Dinner over, the servants left the room, and pipes were produced; but St. Arnaud and Gavin had not acquired the practice of smoking, common even then among Prussian officers. General Kollnitz was a picture as he sat back, his huge form filling his chair, with a long pipe in front of him. Pfels was no less active and vigilant than ever; at six, seven, and eight o’clock he went into the anteroom to receive the report of the officer of the guard, and at nine he was to make the tour of the fortress with the commandant.
By eight o’clock the commandant was taking his usual doze. Pfels went out into the anteroom, and as soon as his back was turned Gavin rose and, taking a knife from the table, softly cut all the cords from the curtains and bell-ropes, and quickly rolled them into a pile, which he threw on the sofa, and carefully placed the sofa-cushions over them. Then he gently tried the handle of the closet door in which the general’s huge pelisse and hat and Pfels’ hat and cloak were kept, and, to his joy, all were hanging in their accustomed places. When Pfels returned he found St. Arnaud and Gavin still seated at the table, and apparently absorbed in a game of patience, while the commandant snored loudly.
“The commandant’s practice of going to sleep over his pipe is rather awkward with certain guests,” said Pfels, laughing and reseating himself at the table, “but nothing can change his habit. Luckily, I keep wide-awake enough for two.”
“We don’t object in the least to the commandant’s taking his ease, although we enjoy his company; but I observe, unlike most inert men, he keeps other people’s eyes open.”