“You may indeed say that you have made no progress,” said he; “but, never mind, I have been a locksmith, and I know how to handle a file.” Having drawn the cork from the vial of brandy which he had brought, he fastened the stopper to the end of one of the files, and swathed the handle of the instrument with a piece of damp linen. “That is what they call putting a _stop_ on the instrument,” he remarked, by way of explanation. Then he made an energetic attack on the bars. It at once became evident that he had not exaggerated his knowledge of the subject, nor the efficacy of his precautions for deadening the sound. The harsh grating that had so alarmed the baron was no longer heard, and Bavois, finding he had nothing more to dread from the keenest ears, now made preparations to shelter himself from observation. To cover the opening in the door would arouse suspicion at once--so the corporal adopted another expedient. Moving the little table to another part of the room, he placed the light upon it, in such a position that the window remained entirely in shadow. Then he ordered the baron to sit down, and handing him a paper, said: “Now read aloud, without stopping for an instant, until you see me cease work.” By this method they might reasonably hope to deceive the guards outside in the corridor. Some of them, indeed, did come to the door and look in, then went away to say to their companions: “We have just taken a look at the prisoner. He is very pale, and his eyes are glittering feverishly. He is reading aloud to divert his mind. Corporal Bavois is looking out of the window. It must be dull music for him.” The baron’s voice would also be of advantage in overpowering any suspicious sound, should there be one. And while Bavois worked, M. d’Escorval read, read, read. He had completed the perusal of the entire paper, and was about to begin it again, when the old soldier, leaving the window, motioned him to stop. “Half the task is completed,” he said, in a whisper. “The lower bars are cut.” “Ah! how can I ever repay you for your devotion!” murmured the baron. “Hush! not a word!” interrupted Bavois. “If I escape with you, I can never return here; and I shall not know where to go, for the regiment, you see, is my only family. Ah, well! if you will give me a home with you, I shall be content.” Whereupon he swallowed a big draught of brandy, and set to work with renewed ardor. The corporal had cut one of the second row of bars, when he was interrupted by M. d’Escorval, who, without discontinuing his reading, had approached and pulled Bavois’s long coat to attract his attention. He turned quickly. “What is it?” “I heard a singular noise.” “Where?” “In the adjoining room where the ropes are.” Honest Bavois muttered a terrible oath. “Do they intend to betray us? I risked my life, and they promised me fair play.” He placed his ear against an opening in the partition, and listened for a long time. Nothing, not the slightest sound.