I again seized the lanthorn and re-examined every stone and corner with feverish hope, only to have despair triumph over it more completely than before. Then came a season of mad revolt. It was too horrible! too impossible! that I, Hugh Maxwell, a gentleman, who had lived delicately, who had shone in society which the world courted, who had loved fair women, had talked, and smiled, and sung to them, could in a few short hours be lying a mangled corpse in this obscure corner of the world, could die the death of a dog, of a traitor, the most shameful that can come to a man of honour. I was filled with a vast pity for myself, so mighty and overwhelming that tears filled my eyes as for another, for I saw myself apart, as it were, as distinctly as I saw that pitiful figure before the ramparts; then the childishness of it flashed across me and I laughed aloud; but my laughter was no more real than my tears, for neither brought relief, and the weary round began again. How many hours this continued I do not know, but my attention was suddenly arrested by a sound at the door, and I made out a jingle of keys. Quickly blowing out the light, I drew my sword and prepared to force an exit, no matter what the odds. But scarce had the door moved when I caught a low whisper. "The chest against the wall! Quick!" Then followed the voice of Madame Prevost raised in dismay: "Mon Dieu, Charles! My candle has gone out! Hurry, bring a light!" The moment's delay sufficed; I gained the chest and squeezed myself in, letting the lid down over me. In a moment and before my heart ceased beating I heard her clear accents again. "There, Charles! There, Antoine! Take it up and carry it to my room." And I felt the chest slowly lifted, and the men staggered out, complaining loudly of its weight. Up the stairs we travelled, uncomfortably for me; then on a level again along the passage; and I was laughing to myself at the probable outcome of my adventure, when I heard, "Where in the name of all the devils are you lugging that thing?" It was the Commissary! "To my room. I want to put my furs away," came the soft answer from madame. "Blague! Put it down!" And I was jarred on the stone flags. Then came a pause, and I was speculating on the best mode of attack for a man in my ridiculous position, when the chest was lifted at one end and again dropped heavily. Then came the same voice, but with a tone of triumph to it: "Well, do as you like; but there is a lot of old rubbish in it. Take it first, and empty it over the Princess's Bastion!" And once more the chest was slowly lifted. A pretty situation surely, and clever on the part of M. the Commissary again. A tumble down on those rocks or into the moat would be equally effective, and would not require such explanations as if my body were found in the King's vaults; but my gentleman reckoned without his host.