He rang the bell and ordered some wine to be sent up immediately. “And now,” said he, when the other had set down his glass, “tell me first where have you come from?” “I have come from the Catacombs of Paris, monsieur, where I have been trapped and wandering since I don’t know when.” “From the Catacombs?” “Yes, monsieur, or rather from the plain of Mont Souris to which the gallery which I pursued led me.” “But what were you doing in the Catacombs?” “Trying to escape, monsieur, and I can only say this, that I hope never to have a similar experience.” Then rapidly he began to tell of his visit to Camus’ house, of the laboratory, of what he had seen, and of his escape. “I had to choose between three corridors, monsieur, and the one I chose led me to a blank wall. I had to come back, which took me a day. I had to go most of the time in darkness to husband the candles I had with me. “The new corridor I chose led me right at last, but the last was a long time coming. Several times I fell asleep and must have slept many hours. I would have died of exhaustion had I not found water. At several places I found water trickling through crevices of the rock and I had to cross one fairly big pool. I had to walk always, feeling my way with one foot. My progress was slow. At last I came to the old grating which guards the entrance to the Catacombs on the plain of Mont Souris. There I might have died had not my cries attracted the attention of a man, who, obtaining assistance, broke down the bars and freed me. That was yesterday evening. He took me to his cottage, and then after I had taken some food I fell into a sleep that lasted till late this morning.” Lavenne’s story filled Sartines with such astonishment that he forgot for a moment the main business in hand, that is to say, Rochefort. It was Lavenne who recalled him to it. “And now that I have told you my story, monsieur,” said he, “let us forget it, for there are matters of much more importance to be considered. I have been out of the world practically for four days. Is Count Camus still alive?” He had told Sartines about the poisoning of the silver dagger, but he had not told him all. “Alive,” said the Minister, “oh, yes, he is very much alive, or was so late last night. Why do you ask?” “Because, monsieur, before leaving the room I told you of, I drew that dagger from its sheath and inserted it again, but I took particular care to insert it the other way about.” “The other way about?” “Yes, monsieur. It fitted the sheath either way.” “So that if Camus uses it,” cried Sartines, starting from his chair, “if the gentleman of the Italian school uses his fruit knife in the way that the poisoning of the blade suggests, it is he himself who will suffer?”