Having spoken, he was about to leave the room, when Martial detained him, “Think again before you decide,” said the marquis. “Our situation is not without a precedent. Don’t you remember that a few months ago the Count de Lavalette was condemned to death. Now the king wished to pardon him, but the ministers had contrary views. No doubt his majesty was the master; still what did he do? He effected to remain deaf to all the supplications made on the prisoner’s behalf. The scaffold was even erected, and yet Lavalette was saved! And no one was compromised--yes, a jailer lost his position; but he is living on his pension now.” Marie-Anne caught eagerly at the idea which Martial had so cleverly presented. “Yes,” she exclaimed, “the Count de Lavalette was favoured by royal connivance, and succeeded in making his escape.” The simplicity of the expedient, and the authority of the example, seemed to make a vivid impression on the duke. He remained silent for a moment, but Marie-Anne fancied she could detect an expression of relief steal over his face. “Such an attempt would be very hazardous,” he murmured; “yet, with care, and if one were sure that it would remain a secret--” “Oh! the secret will be religiously kept, sir,” interrupted Marie-Anne. With a glance Martial recommended her to remain silent then turning to his father, he said: “We can always consider this expedient, and calculate the consequences--that won’t bind us. When is this sentence to be carried into effect?” “To-morrow,” replied the duke. Terrible as this curt answer seemed, it did not alarm Marie-Anne. She had perceived by the duke’s acute anxiety that she had good grounds for hope, and she was now aware that Martial would favour her designs. “We have, then, only the night before us,” resumed the marquis. “Fortunately, it is only half-past seven, and until ten o’clock my father can visit the citadel without exciting suspicion.” He paused, and seemed embarrassed. The fact was, he had just realised the existence of a difficulty which might thwart all his plans. “Have we any intelligent men in the citadel?” he murmured. “A jailer or a soldier’s assistance is indispensable.” Turning to his father, he abruptly asked him: “Have you any man whom one can trust?” “I have three or four spies--they can be bought--” “No! the wretch who betrays his comrade for a few sous would betray you for a few louis. We must have an honest man who sympathizes with Baron d’Escorval’s opinions--an old soldier who fought under Napoleon, if possible.” “I know the man you require!” exclaimed Marie-Anne with sudden inspiration, and noticing Martial’s surprise. “Yes, a man at the citadel.” “Take care,” observed the marquis. “Remember he will have a great deal to risk, for should this be discovered the accomplices must be sacrificed.” “The man I speak of is the one you need. I will be responsible for him. His name is Bavois, and he is a corporal in the first company of grenadiers.”