On being left alone in his cell after Marie-Anne’s departure, Chanlouineau gave himself up to despair. He loved Marie-Anne most passionately, and the idea that he would never see her again on earth proved heart-rending. Some little comfort he certainly derived from the thought that he had done his duty, that he had sacrificed his own life to secure her happiness, but then this result had only been obtained by simulating the most abject cowardice, which must disgrace him for ever in the eyes of his fellow prisoners, and the guards. Had he not offered to sell Lacheneur’s life for his own moreover. True it was but a ruse, and yet those who knew nothing of his secret would always brand him as a traitor and a coward. To a man of his true valiant heart such a prospect was particularly distressing, and he was still brooding over the idea when the Marquis de Courtornieu entered his cell to ascertain the result of Marie-Anne’s visit. “Well, my good fellow----” began the old nobleman, in his most condescending manner; but Chanlouineau did not allow him time to finish. “Leave,” he cried, in a fit of rage. “Leave or----” Without waiting to hear the end of the sentence the marquis made his escape, greatly surprised and not a little dismayed by this sudden change in the prisoner’s manner. “What a dangerous bloodthirsty rascal!” he remarked to the guard. “It would, perhaps, be advisable to put him into a strait-jacket!” But there was no necessity for that; for scarcely had the marquis left, than the young farmer threw himself on to his pallet, oppressed with feverish anxiety. Would Marie-Anne know how to make the best use of the weapon he had placed in her hands? He hoped so, for she would have the Abbe Midon’s assistance, and besides he considered that the possession of this letter would frighten the Marquis de Sairmeuse into any concessions. In this last surmise Chanlouineau was entirely mistaken. The fear which Martial seemingly evinced during the interview with Marie-Anne and his father was all affected. He pretended to be alarmed, in order to frighten the duke, for he really wished to assist the girl he so passionately loved, and besides the idea of saving an enemy’s life, of wresting him from the executioner on the very steps of the scaffold, was very pleasing to his mind which at times took a decidedly chivalrous turn. Poor Chanlouineau, however, was ignorant of all this, and consequently his anxiety was perfectly natural. Throughout the afternoon he remained in anxious suspense, and when the night fell, stationed himself at the window of his cell gazing on to the plain below, and trusting that if the baron succeeded in escaping, some sign would warn him of the fact. Marie-Anne had visited him, she knew the cell he occupied and surely she would find some means of letting him know that his sacrifice had not been in vain. Shortly after two o’clock in the morning he was alarmed by a great bustle in the corridor outside.