The latter had also not been idle during the last four days. Happy as a child with a toy, the ingenious Ferminard had not noticed the faint sound of the saw in the next cell. If it reached him at all at times, he no doubt put it down to the noise of a rat. Never before in his life had he possessed so much paper, ink, and time to write in. Up to this his leisure had been mostly consumed by taverns, good companions, women, and the necessity of getting drunk which his unfortunate temperament imposed on him. Also, in hunting for loans. Now he found himself housed, fed, and cared for, protected from drink and supplied with all the materials his imagination required for the moment. So, for the moment, he was happy and busy, and his happiness would have been more complete had Rochefort been a better listener. Towards dusk, Rochefort considered that the time had come to negotiate the business of the rope with M. Ferminard. Accordingly, he drew the bed away from the wall, and, kneeling down, approached his head to the opening. “Monsieur Ferminard.” “Ho! M. de Rochefort, is that you?” “Yes, it is I—let us talk for awhile.” “With pleasure, monsieur.” He heard Ferminard’s bed being moved away from the wall. Then came the dramatist’s voice. “I am here, monsieur. I was asleep when you called me and I was dreaming that I was at the Maison Gambrinus drinking some Flemish beer that Turgis had just imported, and that there was a hole in the bottom of my mug, so that as fast as I drank so fast did the beer run out. I got nothing but froth, and even that froth had a taste of soap-suds. Now tell me one thing, M. de Rochefort.” “Yes?” “Why is it that when one dreams, one’s dreams are always so unsatisfactory? Whenever I meet a pretty girl in dreamland, she always turns into an old woman when I kiss her, and whenever I find myself in good company, I am either dressed in rags, or, what is worse, not dressed at all. If I go to collect money I always enter by mistake the house of some man to whom I owe a debt, and if I find myself on the stage I am always acting some part, the lines of which I have forgotten.” “The whole world is unsatisfactory, M. Ferminard, and as dreamland is part of the world, why, I suppose it is unsatisfactory too. Now as to that play of yours whose ending you insisted on describing to me this morning, that is like dreamland and the world—unsatisfactory. The ending does not satisfy me in the least.” “In what way?” “I have thought of a better.” “Oh, you have. Well, please explain to me what you mean.” “I will, certainly. But first let me see that rope which you told me you had discovered, and the discovery of which gave you the idea for this play of yours.” “The rope, but what can you want with the rope?” “I will show you when it is in my hands, or at least I will explain my meaning; come, M. Ferminard, the rope, for without it I cannot show you what I want.” “Wait, monsieur, and I will get it.”