In fact, though five minutes’ work had produced a tiny furrow in the bar sufficient to be felt with his thumb-nail, the whole thing seemed hopeless. But only for a minute. He began to calculate. If five minutes’ labour made a perceptible furrow in the iron of the bar, fifty minutes would give him ten times that result, and a hundred minutes twenty times. Two hours’ labour, then, ought to start him well on his way through the business. But even with this calculation fresh in his mind, his heart quailed before the thought of what he would have to do and to suffer before the last cut of the saw and the crowning of his efforts. It was a life’s work compressed into days. The labours of a Titan condensed and diminished, but not in the least lightened, and his heart quailed at the thought, not because he was a coward, but because he knew that if he once took the job in hand he would go through with it to the end. He came from the window and putting the saw on the table, lay down on the bed. He lay for a few minutes without moving, like a man exhausted. Then all of a sudden, and as though some vital spring had been wound up and set going, he rose from the bed, snatched the saw from the table and approached the bar. From the next cell he could hear a faint rhythmical sound. It was the sound of Ferminard snoring. Asleep and quite unconscious of the fact that his precious box which he had placed in his pocket after receiving it back, had been rifled of its contents. CHAPTER III THE TWO PRISONERS (_continued_) Next morning, Rochefort awoke after five hours’ sleep to find the daylight streaming into his cell and Bonvallot opening his door to bring him the early morning coffee that was served out to prisoners of the first class. He had worked for three hours with the saw, and in his dreams he had been still at work, cutting his way through iron bars in a quite satisfactory manner, only to find that they joined together again when cut. “Here is your coffee,” said Bonvallot, “and a roll—_déjeuner_ is served at noon—and the bed—have you found it comfortable?” “_Mordieu_! Comfortable!” grumbled the prisoner, “it seems to me I have been sleeping on brickbats. Put the coffee on the table, Sergeant Bonvallot—that is right, and now tell me, has your Governor, M. le Capitaine Pierre Cousin, returned yet?” “He has, monsieur.” “And when may I expect to see him?” “Ah, when—that I cannot tell you. Maybe to-morrow, maybe the next day, maybe the day after, there are no fixed rules for the visits of the governor through the castle of Vincennes.” “Maybe to-morrow, maybe the next day—but I wish to see him to-day.” “Monsieur, that is what the prisoners are always saying. If the governor were to obey the requests of everyone he would be run off his legs.” “I do not wish to run him off his legs. I simply wish to see him.” “And what does monsieur wish to see him about?” “_Ma foi_! what about, that is a secret. I wish to have a private talk with him.”