I got out a scrap of paper and wrote thereon, “_Jacob to Rachel. Jean-Louis is still in the service of Mademoiselle de Lâge._” I found a fragment of stick, notched the paper into the end of it, and gingerly passed my billet through the hole in the wall. On the instant a great voice uttered a malediction behind me, and I was jerked roughly down upon the flags. My end of the stick dropped into the gutter and wedged itself in slime. I looked up. Above me were Cabochon and a yellow-faced rascal. This last wore a sword by his side and on his head a high-crowned hat stuffed with plumes. I had seen him before--Maillard, l’Abbaye Maillard, a hound with a keen enough scent for blood to make himself a lusty living. He and his colleague Héron would often come to La Force to count their victims before following them to the scaffold. “Plots--plots!” he muttered, shaking his head tolerantly, as if he were rebuking a child. “See to it, Citizen Cabochon.” The jailer fetched back the stick. The paper, however, was gone from the end of it. “It will be in the sewer,” said Maillard, quietly. Cabochon had no scruples. He groped with his fingers. “It is not here,” he said after a time, eyeing me and very malignant. “Well,” said the other, “who is this fellow?” “_Mordi_, Citizen President; he is a forgotten jackass that eats his head off in the revolutionary stable.” “_Vraiment?_ Then, it follows, his head must fall into the revolutionary manger.” He nodded pleasantly twice or thrice; then turned and, beckoning Cabochon to walk by him, strode away. I sat in particular cogitation against the wall. For the present, it seemed, I enjoyed a distinction that was not attractive to my fellow-prisoners; and I was left religiously to myself. “Now,” said I aloud, “I have grown such a beard that at last the national barber must take me in hand.” “M. Jean-Louis,” said a voice the other side of the trap, “will you keep me kneeling here for ever?” I started and flung myself face downwards with a cry of joy. My heart swelled in a moment so that it drove the tears up to my eyes. “Carinne!” I cried, choking and half-sobbing; “is it thou indeed?” “Creep through the little hole,” she said, “and thou shalt see.” I laughed and I cried in a single breath. “Say what thou wilt, _ma fillette_. Yes, I will call thee as I choose. Didst thou hear but now? I think it is a dying man that speaks to thee. Carinne, say after all you keep a place in your heart for the little odd Thibaut.” “Insidious! thou wouldst seek to devour the whole, like a little worm in a gall.” “To hear your voice again! We are always shadows to one another now. As a shadow I swear that I love you dearly. Oh, _ma mie, ma mie_, I love you so dearly. And why were you cruel to leave me for that small gust of temper I soon repented of? Carinne! My God! she is gone away!” “I am here, little Thibaut.”