Edouard realized only too well the difficulty he would have in escaping, and he abandoned himself to despair. The night arrived at last; he descended from his protecting tree and resumed his journey. Every time that the faintest noise reached his ear, he stopped and buried himself in the thickest bushes. His face and hands were torn by thorns and brambles; but he did not feel the pain; he would have been glad to hide in the bowels of the earth. He walked as fast as his strength permitted, picking up fruit of which he retained some for the following day, stopping only in the most solitary places, and hiding during the day in the top of some densely-leaved tree. On the fourth day, toward morning, he passed a small cottage surrounded by a garden; he cast a glance over the wall in the hope of discovering fruit; but what was his joy when he saw linen and clothes hanging on lines; the idea of taking possession of them and getting rid of his convict’s costume, at once occurred to his mind; the thought of theft no longer frightened him; he justified it by his plight. Only a half ruined wall, four feet high, separated him from the priceless garments; for the first time, he did not stop to consider the danger. He climbed the wall, took whatever he needed, and made his escape without the slightest twinge of remorse; for what he had done seemed to him a mere trifle to what he had seen done. Having reached a dense wood, he removed his accusing costume and donned the clothes which he had stolen. Thereupon, being a little more at ease in his mind, and thinking that he must already be very far from Toulon, he set forth again, determined to ask hospitality for the night of some peasant, and hoping that they would give him a crust of bread, which seemed to him a priceless treasure capable of restoring his strength. As he did not choose, however, to take the risk of entering a village, where he feared to meet gendarmes who were in pursuit of him, he decided to knock at the door of an isolated cabin, surrounded by dense woods. A peasant answered his knock and asked him what he could do for him. “A great deal,” said Edouard; “I am an unfortunate man, worn out with fatigue and hunger; allow me to pass the night in your house, and you will save my life.” “It’s a fact,” said the peasant, scrutinizing him with attention, “you seem very tired and very sick. But who are you? For a body must know who he takes in.” “I am--I am an unfortunate deserter; I trust my secret to you; don’t betray me!” “A deserter--the devil! It isn’t right to desert! But I’m not capable of betraying you; come, come in, and you can tell me why you deserted.” Edouard entered the cabin, conscious of a keen sense of delight in being once more under a roof.