He had a friendly warder at the gate who was much interested in some sketches which Eugène was making in the prison, and went down to him one day with his portfolio in his hand. "A few fresh sketches you might like to look at." While the Argus of the gate was amusing himself with Eugène's drawings, Eugène himself feigned astonishment at the number of visitors to the prison, as evidenced by the quantity of passes lying loose on the table. He expressed no less surprise that the warder should have so little care of them; why not keep the passes in a handy case, such, for example, as Eugène used for his drawings?
The warder thought he would ask the governor for one. "You needn't trouble the governor," said Eugène; "take mine. Look, what could be better!" and in filling the portfolio with the visitors' passes, he slipped in two others.
At that psychological instant, Duvergier and Laverderie presented themselves at the gate.
"Your names, messieurs?" and they gave the names which were entered on Eugène's passes.
The passes were turned up, the warder handed them over, and—still thanking Eugène for his present—bowed the fugitives out of the prison.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ABBAYE.
It was the monks, as tradition wills it, who hollowed out the cruel cells of the Abbaye de Saint-Germain-des-Près. The architect Gomard, insisting that cells were not included in the bond, withdrew when he had put his last touches to the cloisters. But in 1630, or thereabouts, no monastery was complete without its oubliettes, and the prior commanded his brethren to finish the work of the too-scrupulous Gomard. Thus was the Abbaye equipped as an abbaye should be.