Edmé turned the handle of the door but could not open it. It had been locked on the outside. She ran to one of the front windows. By the faint light in the Rue Barillerie, she could discern an occasional passer-by. With an effort she raised the heavy sash and leaned out. It was between eight and nine o'clock, and the small street was very quiet. The few pedestrians were already out of hearing, and had they been nearer she would have feared to call out to them. She looked down at the pavement. The height was twenty feet; she closed the window with a shudder. Looking about the room she saw, what had before escaped her notice, a ray of light coming through the crack of a door into an adjoining room. A number of voices in conversation was audible. She resolved to play again the part of Citizeness Privat. Whoever might be there, when he learned that she had been accidentally locked in while at work, would show her the way out. The door opened wider, and a man came forth. Edmé, who had hastily taken up the same broom she had before used, pretended to be at work, while she summoned her self-possession. The man gave her no more than a casual glance as he went to a table, took out from a drawer a bundle of papers, and proceeded to look them over. Edmé looked at him closely, sweeping all the while. Her first apprehension was quieted when she saw he was a very young man with rosy cheeks and a pen behind his ear. He was evidently one of the government clerks, staying late at the office to finish some piece of work. She breathed more freely every moment notwithstanding the amount of dust she raised. The clerk put the bundle of papers under his arm with a gesture of annoyance, and went back to the other room. Edmé waited a few minutes, put the broom under her arm, and approached the door which the clerk had left ajar. She could not help starting as she read the large letters on the panel of the door. The room which contained the apple-faced and harmless looking little scribe was designated "Chamber of Death Warrants." "Here's a pretty state of affairs, Clément," she heard a voice exclaim in a tone of annoyance. "The list of warrants for 'La Force' to-morrow consists of thirty-seven names while I have only thirty-six documents." "Count them again, Hanneton; you know at school you were always slow at figures." "I have compared the warrants with the list of names twice most carefully. I assure you one warrant is missing. See for yourself, '_Bonnefoi, Charles de, ex-noble_' is on the list, but there is not a single Bonnefoi among to-morrow's pile of warrants." "Have you looked through those of day after to-morrow?" "I have, both of the day after to-morrow and the day following that. In fact, I have gone over all the warrants for all the prisoners, but still no _Bonnefoi, Charles de, ex-noble_." "Lucky for Bonnefoi!" "But unlucky for me. I shall be discharged if I let these go out this way."