“There are two courses open to you, Monsieur,” he said. “Either give me your word of honor not to attempt to get away, or submit to the programme that has been carried out with your friend yonder. I must tie your hands and feet.” “But,” Fronsac protested, “they have not tied the hands and feet of my friend.” The fellow stepped over and looked down to see how I was secured. “No,” he said, “but I am not a light sleeper, like Drouet there. I can’t afford to take that chance. Come, Monsieur, choose.” For answer Fronsac held out his hands, and in a moment they were lashed together. Another rope was bound tightly about his ankles. “There,” grunted the fellow, as he secured the last knot. “Now, Monsieur, you may try to leave us if you wish. Only I warn you there are some sentries about who will not hesitate to fire,” and rolling himself in his cloak, he was snoring in a moment. Despite my fatigue, sleep did not come readily to my eyes. My brain was busy with thoughts of escape. I realized that once within Roquefort’s stronghold at Marleon I should not find it easy to come out again, and I had no desire for that introduction to the rack which he had promised me. But to escape was no easy thing. I lay for long trying to devise some plan which offered at least a prospect of success. I might reach out with my free hand, grasp Drouet by the throat, and hold him so until he ceased to breathe. But I realized that, with one hand, it was most unlikely I could master so powerful a man, to say nothing of the noise such an encounter must create. A sudden blow was impossible for like reason. I tried softly to remove my hand from the knot which held it, but found that, too, impossible. I tried to reach the knot with my free hand, but Drouet stirred uneasily, and I lay still again. By the fading light of the fire I could dimly see Fronsac struggling to free himself, but with no more success than I. A sentry’s step sounded at the door and a shadowy figure appeared there for a moment, looking over the room to see that all was well. Then he disappeared into the outer darkness, and for a time I watched the shadows dancing along the walls and over the ceiling. Gradually they grew faint and fainter, and fatigue weighed down my eyelids. How long I slept I do not know, but I opened my eyes with a start and looked about the room. The fire had burned so low on the hearth that the place was almost in utter darkness, save for an instant, now and then, as a log fell asunder and sent a shower of sparks into the air. It was during one of these flashes that I fancied I saw a figure moving far down the room, but the light died away before I could make sure. I rubbed my eyes, braced my head against the wall, and waited. Yes, there it was again--this time there could be no mistaking--a cloaked figure bending over one man and then passing on to the next. What could it mean? [Illustration: My bonds fell from me]