Roland read the letter twice, thought it over for a few moments, then rose suddenly, and, entering the First Consul’s study, handed it to him silently. The latter read it without betraying the slightest emotion, or even surprise; then, with a laconism that was wholly Lacedæmonian, he said: “Place the light.” Then he gave the letter back to Roland. The next evening, at seven o’clock, the light shone in the window, and at five minutes past the hour, Roland in person was waiting at the little door of the garden. He had scarcely been there a moment when three blows were struck on the door after the manner of the free-masons; first two strokes and then one. The door was opened immediately. A man wrapped in a cloak was sharply defined against the grayish atmosphere of the wintry night. As for Roland, he was completely hidden in shadow. Seeing no one, the man in the cloak remained motionless for a second. “Come in,” said Roland. “Ah! it is you, colonel!” “How do you know it is I?” asked Roland. “I recognize your voice.” “My voice! But during those few moments we were together in the dining-room at Avignon I did not say a word.” “Then I must have heard it elsewhere.” Roland wondered where the Chief of the Companions of Jehu could have heard his voice, but the other said gayly: “Is the fact that I know your voice any reason why we should stand at the door?” “No, indeed,” replied Roland; “take the lapel of my coat and follow me. I purposely forbade any lights being placed in the stairs and hall which lead to my room.” “I am much obliged for the intention. But on your word I would cross the palace from one end to the other, though it were lighted _à giorno_, as the Italians say.” “You have my word,” replied Roland, “so follow me without fear.” Morgan needed no encouragement; he followed his guide fearlessly. At the head of the stairs Roland turned down a corridor equally dark, went twenty steps, opened a door, and entered his own room. Morgan followed him. The room was lighted by two wax candles only. Once there, Morgan took off his cloak and laid his pistols on the table. “What are you doing?” asked Roland. “Faith! with your permission,” replied Morgan, gayly, “I am making myself comfortable.” “But those pistols you have just laid aside--” “Ah! did you think I brought them for you?” “For whom then?” “Why, that damned police! You can readily imagine that I am not disposed to let citizen Fouché lay hold of me, without burning the mustache of the first of his minions who lays hands on me.” “But once here you feel you have nothing to fear?” “The deuce!” exclaimed the young man; “I have your word.” “Then why don’t you unmask?” “Because my face only half belongs to me; the other half belongs to my companions. Who knows if one of us being recognized might not drag the others to the guillotine? For of course you know, colonel, we don’t hide from ourselves that that is the price of our game!” “Then why risk it?”