“M’sieu must lie still,” he said. “On no account must M’sieu move or speak. If by chance I should have to go away, M’sieu must wait till nightfall, when the cart will come to take M’sieu elsewhere.”
“But I say, Jean—you must not get into trouble for me,” called Roy, his voice sounding far and muffled.
“Bien, M’sieu. Trust Jean to do his best. Can M’sieu breathe easily?”
“Rather stuffy, but it’s all right.”
“Au revoir, M’sieu. I go to the soupente. M’sieu will remain in the bûcher, till I or my friend come again.”
Then silence. Jean returned to the cottage, where he rinsed the basin which had been used for dyeing purposes, put things straight, unbolted the front door, climbed up into the little soupente, drawing the ladder after him, and there laid himself flat, under a pile of loose rubbish. Soon he was or pretended to be asleep.
Roy’s sleep was no pretence. Despite his hard bed, and the “stuffiness” of the limited atmosphere which he had to breathe, despite fear of gendarmes and risks of discovery, he was very soon peacefully sound asleep, and knew no more for the next two hours.
Something roused him then. In a moment he was wide awake; his heart thumping unpleasantly against his side.
The gendarmes had come.
Roy of course could see nothing; he could only hear; and he heard a good deal more than might have been expected from his position, since his senses were quickened by the exigency of the moment. Also, the men made a good deal of noise, after the manner of gendarmes. Roy imagined that three or four of them must be there.