In a few minutes he was again with those he had left, and, saying only, "'T is well, madame; we shall get out," fell into a peaceful sleep.
The next day every one dragged on wearily, the duke still leading, and François hoping that he would be asked advice. The water rained on them a noisome downfall, the rats came out in hordes; and still François cheered his companions, now carrying the baby, and now encouraging the tired boys.
I have not given in full detail all the miseries of these weary days and sorrowful nights. They have been more fully told elsewhere by one who felt them as more serious than did François, whose narrative I now am following. These unhappy victims of the Terror had been altogether six days in the cave, but François not so long. By this time their spirit was quite broken. The thief alone remained gay, hopeful, and even confident, but saw clearly enough that these people, used to easy lives, could not endure much longer the strain of this unguided wandering in the dark and somber alleys of this horrible labyrinth of darkness and foul odors. The duke seemed also to be of a like mind, for on the morning of the seventh day he awakened François at six, and, of a sudden grown sadly familiar, whispered low to him:
"Is there any hope? Madame and the boys are failing. Soon we shall have to carry them."
"We shall get out," said François.
"But how? how? Why to-day any more than yesterday? Do you think of any way to help us?"
"If monsieur will permit me to lead—"
"Good! Why did you not say so before?"
François made no direct reply, but asked: "Did ever a house fall into these quarry-caves?"
"A house? Why do you ask? Yes; it was long ago. The house of the lieutenant of the guard it was. I do not recall the date. A house in the Rue des Pêches."