He sat down upon the edge of the bed and wondered what had happened in the world since he had been cut off from it. His thoughts were frequently of Gaillard, and he wished he could learn something about his friend. As he was sitting thus, oppressed by the warmth of a June afternoon, the turnkey entered the cell.
"There is an old man come to see you," he said, addressing Tournay. "Your uncle from the provinces, I believe. You may see him outside here in the corridor."
"I wonder who this visitor may be," thought Tournay as he followed the turnkey. "Had I not received word of my poor father's death two months ago I should expect to find him."
An old man stood leaning on his cane at the end of the corridor. He seemed quite feeble, and the jailer, moved to compassion by his infirmity, placed a stool for him to sit upon.
"My nephew!" exclaimed the old man in tremulous accents as Tournay made his appearance.
Apparently the old man had made some mistake. To Colonel Tournay's eyes he was an entire stranger; but being aware that the slightest suspicion aroused in the mind of the prison authorities sometimes led to very serious consequences, he determined to wait until the turnkey was out of hearing before undeceiving the mild-eyed old gentleman.
"My uncle," he answered, taking the venerable citizen by the outstretched hand, "how did your old legs manage to"—
The septuagenarian squeezed the colonel's hand until the fingers cracked.
"My old legs would have brought me here long before," said the voice of Gaillard in guarded tones, "but it took me two weeks to get this disguise!"
"Gaillard! In heaven's name can it be you?"