“Can’t help that,” retorted Roy. “And they can’t help it either, poor fellows—most of them. I say, this cheese is uncommonly good. Where did you manage to hide it away, so as to keep it from the gendarmes? Jean, were you long at Bitche? Tell me about it.” Jean was cautious. He evidently preferred not to enter into details. It was better for Roy’s own sake that he should not know too much. It seemed, however, that on Jean’s arrival at Bitche, he had found one of the gendarmes to be an old acquaintance; and through this gendarme, not through his soldier-friend, he had obtained a temporary post in the fortress. A man who did rough work, chopping and carrying wood and so on, had fallen ill and had gone home for a fortnight to a neighbouring village. Meanwhile, Jean was allowed to undertake his work. This gave Jean a good opportunity to study the fortress and to make himself acquainted with the surrounding country. He did not fully explain to Roy the maturing of his plans during that fortnight, nor precisely what those plans had been. The careful manner in which he avoided speaking of his soldier-friend made Roy pretty sure that the said friend had had some sort of hand in aiding his escape; but he put no more questions in this direction. Jean had had two or three glimpses of Roy from time to time; but he had held carefully aloof, until he saw his way to action. Then he contrived to be sent into the yard just when the better class of prisoners was assembled there; and the rest Roy knew. “Why was I sent to that upstairs room?” demanded Roy. “M’sieu, there were doubtless reasons. It is sometimes best that one should not know all the reasons that may exist,” observed Jean meditatively. “What if, perhaps, somebody had known of the intended escape, and had tried by that means to save M’sieu from danger?” “Jean, was it you?” “Non, M’sieu!”—decidedly. But whether Jean spoke the truth on this point, whether Jean might or might not have had a hand in the wire-pulling which led to that event, Roy had no means of knowing. He felt that further questioning would be unfair. He had but to be thankful that he was free. By the time hunger and thirst were satisfied, Roy’s spirits had risen to a pitch unknown to him during eight months past. Then, the land being shrouded in darkness, a rough little cart drawn by a rough little pony and driven by a charcoal-burner came to the door. Roy spoke a few grateful words to him, as well as again to Jean, for their generous help. After which, he and Jean started in the cart, taking a small lantern with them.