"Just think of it!" Hutin replied; "that great patriot has not dared to put his nose outside his door! It was all I could do to get him to give me back General La Fayette's proclamation!" "I hope you have brought it!" "Rather! Look here! here it is!" "Give it me.... Good! Now to business!" "And what have you done?" "I have acquired this hatchet from M. Jousselin's fireplace.... We are going to break open the door of the powder magazine, load it on to a waggon Moreau has gone to fetch and then we will depart." "Can you rely on Moreau?" "As I would on myself!... By the way, what has become of Quinette?" "He has disappeared--vanished--flown! But we will not bother ourselves about him. Set to work!" It was not such an easy task to accomplish. The lock that we had to burst was fixed into the wall itself and the wall was built of flint rubble, so every badly aimed blow which fell on the wall instead of the lock or woodwork produced millions of sparks. Lieutenant-Colonel d'Orcourt was a stout-hearted man, but, at the third blow which sent out a shower of sparks, he shook his head and turned to his companions. "Don't let us stop here any longer," he said; "it is no use ... these gentlemen must be mad to undertake such a task"; and he departed as far as the walls of the enclosure would permit, the others following him. After five minutes' work I had to pass on the axe to Hutin, who took his turn and set to work on the door. And, as things were not going as fast as I wished, I raised the largest piece of stone I could find, and, striking an attitude like Ajax, I shouted to Hutin to look out; then I hurled the stone and, at this final effort, being already shaken, it flew into splinters. At last we were in touch with the three thousand pounds of powder! I was so eager lest it should still slip away from our grasp, that I sat down on a barrel, after the fashion of Jean Bart, and begged Hutin to go and hurry up Moreau and his waggoners. Hutin went to do so. He was of an active disposition, all nerves; an indefatigable sportsman, a fine shot and a man of few words; but, to appreciate him properly, he should be seen working, no matter what the work might be. He returned with the waggon a quarter of an hour later, but without Moreau. What had become of him? He had collected a score of young townsfolk and a whole corps of firemen, and they were all waiting to escort me as far as Villers-Cotterets. Moreover, Moreau sent me his horse to ride during my exit. So we loaded the waggon with the powder and I paid the price arranged (four hundred francs, I think it was). We were then free to take our carriage and post-horses; the waggoner was to follow the coach, and was to manage as best he could in bringing it back again: he was to get four hundred francs for his pains.