A couple of hours later Laflamme rose from a hammock in his hut, and leant over the young lad, who was sleeping. He touched him gently. The lad waked: "Yes, yes, monsieur." "I am going away, my friend." "To escape like Carbourd?" "Yes, I hope, like Carbourd." "May I not go also, monsieur? I am not afraid." "No, lad. If there must be death one is enough. You must stay. Good-bye." "You will see my mother? She is old, and she grieves." "Yes, I will see your mother. And more; you shall be free. I will see to that. Be patient, little comrade. Nay, nay, hush! . . . No, thanks. Adieu!" He put his hands on the lad's shoulder and kissed his forehead. "I wish I had died at the Barricades. But, yes, I will be brave--be sure of that." "You shall not die--you shall live in France, which is better. Once more, adieu!" Laflamme passed out. It was raining. He knew that if he could satisfy the first sentinel he should stand a better chance of escape, since he had had so much freedom of late; and to be passed by one would help with others. He went softly, but he was soon challenged. "Halt! Who goes there?" "Condemned of the Commune--by order." "Whose order?" "That of the Commandant." "Advance order." The sentinel knew him. "Ah, Laflamme," he said, and raised the point of his bayonet. The paper was produced. It did not entitle him to go about at night, and certainly not beyond the enclosure without a guard--it was insufficient. In unfolding the paper Laflamme purposely dropped it in the mud. He hastily picked it up, and, in doing so, smeared it. He wiped it, leaving the signature comparatively plain--nothing else. "Well," said the sentinel, "the signature is right. Where do you go?" "To Government House." "I do not know that I should let you pass. But--well, look out that the next sentinel doesn't bayonet you. You came on me suddenly." The next sentinel was a Kanaka. The previous formula was repeated. The Kanaka examined the paper long, and then said: "You cannot pass." "But the other sentinel passed me. Would you get him into trouble?" The Kanaka frowned, hesitated, then said: "That is another matter. Well, pass." Twice more the same formula and arguments were used. At last he heard a voice in challenge that he knew. It was that of Maillot. This was a more difficult game. His order was taken with a malicious sneer by the sentinel. At that instant Laflamme threw his arms swiftly round the other, clapped a hand on his mouth, and, with a dexterous twist of leg, threw him backward, till it seemed as if the spine of the soldier must break. It was impossible to struggle against this trick of wrestling, which Laflamme had learned from a famous Cornish wrestler, in a summer spent on the English coast.