“No! the wretch who betrays his comrade for a few sous, will betray you for a few louis. We must have an honest man who sympathizes with the opinions of Baron d’Escorval--an old soldier who fought under Napoleon, if possible.” A sudden inspiration visited Marie-Anne’s mind. “I know the man that you require!” she cried. “You?” “Yes, I. At the citadel.” “Take care! Remember that he must risk much. If this should be discovered, those who take part in it will be sacrificed.” “He of whom I speak is the man you need. I will be responsible for him.” “And he is a soldier?” “He is only an humble corporal; but the nobility of his nature entitles him to the highest rank. Believe me, we can safely confide in him.” If she spoke thus, she who would willingly have given her life for the baron’s salvation, she must be absolutely certain. So thought Martial. “I will confer with this man,” said he. “What is his name?” “He is called Bavois, and he is a corporal in the first company of grenadiers.” “Bavois,” repeated Martial, as if to fix the name in his memory; “Bavois. My father will find some pretext for desiring him summoned.” “It is easy to find a pretext. He was the brave soldier left on guard at Escorval after the troops left the house.” “This promises well,” said Martial. He had risen and gone to the fireplace in order to be nearer his father. “I suppose,” he continued, “the baron has been separated from the other prisoners?” “Yes, he is alone, in a large and very comfortable room.” “Where is it?” “On the second story of the corner tower.” But Martial, who was not so well acquainted with the citadel as his father, was obliged to reflect a moment. “The corner tower!” said he; “is not that the tall tower which one sees from a distance, and which is built on a spot where the rock is almost perpendicular?” “Precisely.” By the promptness M. de Sairmeuse displayed in replying, it was easy to see that he was ready to risk a good deal to effect the prisoner’s deliverance. “What kind of a window is that in the baron’s room?” inquired Martial. “It is quite large and furnished with a double row of iron bars, securely fastened into the stone walls.” “It is easy enough to cut these bars. On which side does this window look?” “On the country.” “That is to say, it overlooks the precipice. The devil! That is a serious difficulty, and yet, in one respect, it is an advantage, for they station no sentinels there, do they?” “Never. Between the citadel wall and the edge of the precipice there is barely standing-room. The soldiers do not venture there even in the daytime.” “There is one more important question. What is the distance from Monsieur d’Escorval’s window to the ground?” “It is about forty feet from the base of the tower.” “Good! And from the base of the tower to the foot of the precipice--how far is that?” “Really, I scarcely know. Sixty feet, at least, I should think.”