"You are entirely welcome; but you've robbed me of nigh half an hour's sleep, nevertheless; good-night, M. Joubert."
The last words were upon his lips as he stepped forth into the lower hall, and the sentinel there standing supposed, naturally enough, that he was addressing the warder of the above.
"Now, comrade," said our experimenting guardsman, to the sentinel there stationed, "if you will let us out, we shall be grateful. M. Joubert has kept us to help him care for a prisoner who was inclined to be restive."
"Certainly, comrade." And, without hesitation, the honest sentinel ushered the twain forth into the vestibule, whence they made way to the open court.
"Now, my boy, mark me once more: I am Pierre Dubois; you are Julien Bizet—both of the National Guard. I have in my pocket a pass, signed by Colonel de Brèze—or it will answer for his signature. I think this will set us free. Come!"
Boldly they entered the office of the night keeper, where Pierre exhibited his pass. Fortune favoured the adventurers at every turn. This keeper was a plethoric, heavy-eyed man, dull and sleepy. He read the pass and gave it back, and, with only a grunt and a growl at being disturbed, he got up and opened the way for the anxious twain to go free.
In the uniform of the National Guard, and with the pass of Colonel Brèze, it was an easy matter for the fugitives to make their way to the outer fortifications, whence they had no difficulty in slipping through into the German lines, where they were received with great rejoicing.
During the winter of 1875-76, Colonel Alphonse de Brèze was called, by business of State, to the Prussian capital, and while there he went to the theatre. The play advertised on the occasion of his first visit was called "The Guardsman," the leading character of which was a rollicking, fun-making soldier of the French National Guard, said character being enacted by a Berlin favourite, Martin Œsau. When the guardsman made his appearance on the stage, De Brèze was electrified. With the first effort of thought he recognised the man—his recruit of Rameau's wine-shop!—his zealous sentinel of La Force!—his Pierre Dubois!
De Brèze could honour and respect brave men. A few days later he called upon M. Œsau at his home, and spent a pleasant hour; and not long thereafter he met Otho Maximilian at the same place.
"My friends," the colonel said, as he put down his empty wine-glass, "had you seen and heard me on that November morning, five years ago, when my prisoner was demanded of me, and I found an empty cell and a sentinel missing, you would have been slow to believe that an event like this could ever enter into the story of our lives!"