But the baron did not need this initial to be reassured. He had recognized Abbe Midon’s handwriting. “Ah! he is a true friend,” he murmured. Then the recollection of his doubts and despair arose in his mind. “This explains why neither my wife nor son came to visit me,” he thought. “And I doubted their energy--and I was complaining of their neglect!” Intense joy filled his breast; he raised the letter that promised him life and liberty to his lips, and enthusiastically exclaimed: “To work! to work!” He had chosen the finest of the two files, and was about to attack the ponderous bars, when he fancied he heard someone open the door of the next room. Someone had opened it, certainly. The person closed it again, but did not lock it. Then the baron heard someone moving cautiously about. What did all this mean? Were they incarcerating some new prisoner, or were they stationing a spy there? Listening breathlessly, the baron heard a singular sound, whose cause it was absolutely impossible to explain. Noiselessly he advanced to the former communicating door, knelt, and peered through one of the interstices. The sight that met his eyes amazed him. A man was standing in a corner of the room. The baron could see the lower part of the man’s body by the light of a large lantern which he had deposited on the floor at his feet. He was turning around and around very quickly, by this movement unwinding a long rope which had been twined around his body as thread is wound about a bobbin. M. d’Escorval rubbed his eyes as if to assure himself that he was not dreaming. Evidently this rope was intended for him. It was to be attached to the broken bars. But how had this man succeeded in gaining admission to this room? Who could it be that enjoyed such liberty in the prison? He was not a soldier--or, at least, he did not wear a uniform. Unfortunately, the highest crevice was in such a place that the visual ray did not strike the upper part of the man’s body; and, despite the baron’s efforts, he was unable to see the face of this friend--he judged him to be such--whose boldness verged on folly. Unable to resist his intense curiosity, M. d’Escorval was on the point of rapping on the wall to question him, when the door of the room occupied by this man, whom the baron already called his saviour, was impetuously thrown open. Another man entered, whose face was also outside the baron’s range of vision; and the new-comer, in a tone of astonishment, exclaimed: “Good heavens! what are you doing?” The baron drew back in despair. “All is discovered!” he thought. The man whom M. d’Escorval believed to be his friend did not pause in his labor of unwinding the rope, and it was in the most tranquil voice that he responded: “As you see, I am freeing myself from this burden of rope, which I find extremely uncomfortable. There are at least sixty yards of it, I should think--and what a bundle it makes! I feared they would discover it under my cloak.”