"But if somebody should come?"
"All people are not cruel and wicked. It might be a person who is kind and good."
"But the robbers?"
"Why should they come? There is nothing for them here. If they came it would be by chance; against that, we can trust in God."
"Perhaps intruders can be bolted out," said I, going to examine the door. It was of thick oak, heavily studded with nails, and two of its three hinges still held firmly. But there was no bolt, nor any means of barring.
"Nothing but a lock," I said, "and no key for that." It only aggravated my feeling of mockery to discover that both parts of the lock were still strong. In my petulance I flung the door back against the wall.
As one sometimes gives the improbable a trial, from mere impulse of experiment, I took from my pocket the two keys I had brought from Lavardin. I tried first that of the room in which I had been imprisoned: it was too small, and of no avail. I then inserted the key of the postern. To my surprise, it fit. I turned it partly around; it met resistance: I used all my power of wrist; the lock, which had stuck because it was rusted and long unused, yielded to the strength I summoned.
"Thank God!" I cried. "It seems like the work of providence, that I kept the postern key."
I now reversed and withdrew the key, and applied it to the lock from the inside of the door, which I had meanwhile closed. But alas!—no force of mine could move the lock from that side, though I tried again and again.
I went outside and easily enough locked the door from there. I then renewed my endeavours from the inside, but with failure.