“It must have been some rat that you heard,” he said, at last. “Resume your reading.” And he began his work again. This was the only interruption, and a little before four o’clock everything was ready. The bars were cut, and the ropes, which had been drawn through an opening in the wall, were coiled under the window. The decisive moment had come. Bavois took the counterpane from the bed, fastened it over the opening in the door, and filled up the key-hole. “Now,” said he, in the same measured tone which he would have used in instructing his recruits, “attention, sir, and obey the word of command.” Then he calmly explained that the escape would consist of two distinct operations; the first in gaining the narrow platform at the base of the tower; the second, in descending to the foot of the precipitous rock. The abbe, who understood this, had brought Martial two ropes; the one to be used in the descent of the precipice being considerably longer than the other. “I will fasten the shortest rope under your arms, Monsieur, and I will let you down to the base of the tower. When you have reached it, I will pass you the longer rope and the crowbar. Do not miss them. If we find ourselves without them, on that narrow ledge of rock, we shall either be compelled to deliver ourselves up, or throw ourselves down the precipice. I shall not be long in joining you. Are you ready?” M. d’Escorval lifted his arms, the rope was fastened securely about him, and he crawled through the window. From there the height seemed immense. Below, in the barren fields that surrounded the citadel, eight persons were waiting, silent, anxious, breathless. They were Mme. d’Escorval and Maurice, Marie-Anne, Abbe Midon, and the four retired army officers. There was no moon; but the night was very clear, and they could see the tower quite plainly. Soon after four o’clock sounded they saw a dark object glide slowly down the side of the tower--it was the baron. After a little, another form followed very rapidly--it was Bavois. Half of the perilous journey was accomplished. From below, they could see the two figures moving about on the narrow platform. The corporal and the baron were exerting all their strength to fix the crowbar securely in a crevice of the rock. In a moment or two one of the figures stepped from the projecting rock and glided gently down the side of the precipice. It could be none other than M. d’Escorval. Transported with happiness, his wife sprang forward with open arms to receive him. Wretched woman! A terrific cry rent the still night air. M. d’Escorval was falling from a height of fifty feet; he was hurled down to the foot of the rocky precipice. The rope had parted. Had it broken naturally?