“No, there never will be any one, M. Pierre,” she said at last, with a little sigh. “But this Nanette--ah, she is adorable. She heard your voice when you came in that night, calling her name. She thinks you dead, M. Pierre. They have told her that you are dead, that you were killed that night. I believe she loves you also, she has wept so much.” “Oh, if I am only in time,” I said, trembling with apprehension, and I picked up my chain again. “Yes, I will go,” said the girl; and then, “will you do something for me, M. Pierre?” “You have only to name it, Ninon.” “Kiss me good-by, Monsieur. You may not have time in the morning.” “But I am coming back for you, Ninon,” I cried. “It is not good-by. You are to live with us always.” “No, no,” and she was sobbing again. “That cannot be. I am not of your world, Monsieur. I am of the darkness. I could not bear the light. I am hideous, Monsieur--I know it.” “Come here, Ninon,” I whispered. “I will kiss you good-night, not good-by. You shall be pretty, Ninon, when you live surrounded by our love, as you are going to live.” She pressed her lips to mine, and then went away, still sobbing softly. As the door closed, I set to work again at my chain, knowing that no sound I might make could penetrate those massive walls. The hours passed, my hands were torn and bleeding, but still I urged the file back and forth across the iron. The cut in the link was slowly growing deeper--but, oh, so slowly. At last it was almost through, and I paused from sheer exhaustion. My brain was reeling and my hands were shaking like those of a man with palsy. I laid my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. Tired nature conquered and I fell asleep. “Oh, M. Pierre,” cried a voice in my ear, “you have slept!” I opened my eyes with a start. It was Ninon, this time with a lantern. “You have slept!” she cried again. “You have not severed the chain. It is morning, and you will be too late!” “Too late, yes, too late!” I cried. “And all because of my accursed weakness!” and I picked up my chain and tore at it like a madman. “She has gone away,” cried Ninon. “She said she would be back in an hour. She took Nanette with her. When she returns we are to leave Paris.” I groaned. My hands were trembling so I could not control them. I tried to pick up the file and found that I could not hold it. “It is too late,” I groaned. “Did she tell you to give me a vial, Ninon?” “Yes, yes,” she cried. “Here it is,” and she held it up. “Give it to me,” I said, and reached for it. “What is it, M. Pierre?” she asked, springing back, her eyes large with terror. “No matter,” I answered. “Give it me, Ninon. It is the easiest way.” “No, no! Be a man, Monsieur! Oh, you are a man--such a brave man!” and she raised the vial and dashed it against the wall. It broke with a little crash. The liquid trickled down over the stones and filled the cell with a pleasant, sweetish odor.