“The bolt has got twisted, no doubt,” said Christopher. “The whole lock must be taken apart, and the hinges fastened. Pah! that was a lizard creeping across my ankle, and here drops a spider into my very hair. It makes the flesh creep on my bones. Come, come, my friend, have done sorting your tools, this is not a pleasant place to linger in. The light is burning blue already. Oh! there it goes! that was a powerful wrench! Pry away! pry away! force the staple! Hercules! what powerful arms! How the door trembles—open at last. Ah! our friend has fainted, so much the better.” Christopher entered the cell first, and stooping lifted a truss of straw, which he flung over the deathly face of a man who lay in the furthest corner. Then he placed himself directly between the prostrate form and Jacques, who was examining the door. Without appearing to observe these movements, he went on with his work, and seemed to be laboring with great zeal, but made so little progress that Christopher became impatient. “Why, man, at this rate we shall not get away from here in an hour,” he said, casting impatient glances around the dungeon. “An hour! Why if I get through all that is to be done here in three hours, it will be better than I expect.” “Then, by our Lady! you will not spend them here! Come out into the passage, and mend the lock there. I see little chance that this poor fellow will be disturbed by the noise; but, in common charity, be quick, or he may die on our hands.” Monsieur Jacques had hoped to weary the man out by naming so many hours; but failing in this, he answered that it was impossible to remain all the time outside the door, he must go in and out while repairing it; but, for the prisoner’s sake, he would lose no time. “Well, see that you don’t,” answered Christopher, setting his lantern on the floor. “I wouldn’t spend three hours in this place to save the Bastille from destruction.” The seeming locksmith muttered that it was equally disagreeable to him, and went on with his work; but his eyes were now and then turned upon the lantern, and Christopher might have seen that the hand which was turning a screw in one of the hinges worked unsteadily. After an interval of some ten minutes, he swung the door back, as if to try the hinge; it struck the lantern, overturned it, and the next instant they were in profound darkness. An oath broke from the keeper, and he began to grope for the lantern; but Jacques had been before him, the lantern was in his hand, the door open, and he was about to grasp the candle, when a sudden jerk sent it flying into the darkness. “What is to be done?” questioned Jacques, rising from his knees. “How are we to get a light?” “Confound your awkwardness!” answered the keeper, fumbling about for the lantern. “The door is broken open and the candle gone. This is an awful fix. You may thank your stars that the only man in the Bastille who can thread its passages by night, is in this infernal place with you.”