Six o'clock struck, and the gaoler came to conduct the prisoners to the courtyard. They descended with their weapons in their pockets, and once in the yard Dessaignes was for losing not a moment. Their guard was the only attendant within sight, and as Desforges held him in talk, Dessaignes suddenly stepped behind and seized him by his coat-collar. The startled gaoler prepared to summon help, but before he could get out a word Dessaignes clapped a pistol to his forehead.
"Speak but one syllable," said he in a whisper, "and you will never utter another. Come, your keys!"
"Never!" replied the gaoler.
"Your soul to God, then, for your hour has come!"
The gaoler felt the muzzle at his forehead, and saw the glitter in the eyes of his captor. He hesitated.
"A second more, and I fire. Reflect!" said Dessaignes, quietly.
The gaoler's hand was already moving towards his keys when, all at once, his collar burst in the grip of Dessaignes, and he fell backwards. At the same instant, and by accident, Dessaignes' pistol exploded. The crack brought a dozen warders on the scene.
"Quick!" cried Dessaignes to his fellow-prisoner; "up-stairs again!"
They gained their cell, Dessaignes shut and bolted the door, and together they barricaded it with all the furniture they could lay hands on.
"How much powder have we?" asked Desforges, under his breath.