“If we could get out of his power as we came into it!” Tignonville cried.
“Ay, if! But it is not every floor has a trap!”
“We could take up a board.”
The minister raised his eyebrows.
“We could take up a board!” the younger man repeated; and he stepped the mean chamber from end to end, his eyes on the floor. “Or—yes, mon Dieu!” with a change of attitude, “we might break through the roof?” And, throwing back his head, he scanned the cobwebbed surface of laths which rested on the unceiled joists.
“Umph!”
“Well, why not, Monsieur? Why not break through the ceiling?” Tignonville repeated, and in a fit of energy he seized his companion’s shoulder and shook him. “Stand on the bed, and you can reach it.”
“And the floor which rests on it!”
“Par Dieu, there is no floor! ’Tis a cockloft above us! See there! And there!” And the young man sprang on the bed, and thrust the rowel of a spur through the laths. La Tribe’s expression changed. He rose slowly to his feet.
“Try again!” he said.